


lightning strikes from wild skies

by holtzbabe



Series: she is the storm [2]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/F, and 40+ OCs, good luck, holtz's family might be a cult, incredibly bizarre family traditions, this is going to be SO MUCH FLUFF AND RIDICULOUSNESS, to be determined - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/pseuds/holtzbabe
Summary: Holtz takes Erin home for Christmas.





	1. December 19th

**Author's Note:**

> This sequel is already as long as the first one and nowhere near done, so I decided I might as well multi-chapter it and ease you in gently...because this one sure is somethin' alright. At least the first one was based off a personal experience and I could justify it. I have no idea where the idea for this one came from and tbh I'm not sure I want to know

**Wednesday, December 19th**

“Good morning,” Erin says with a yawn as she ambles into the kitchen. “Coffee on?”

Holtz shuts the fridge door that she was hiding behind.

“So, me and my siblings have this _thing_ ,” she says. “Call it a competition, maybe.”

Erin blinks sleepily. “A…coffee competition?”

“A Christmas competition,” Holtz says. She leans against the counter. “Every year we try to out-do each other. I was thinking that this year…you could help me?”

“I just want my coffee,” Erin mumbles.

“Oh, yeah.” Holtz pulls an already-full mug from behind her and hands it over. “Heard you coming down the hall.”

“Thanks,” Erin sighs, taking a long sip with her eyes closed, collecting herself, trying to wake herself up enough to figure out what the hell Holtz is going on about. She takes another sip, then opens her eyes. “So, you want help buying presents? Is that what you’re asking?”

Holtz screws up her face. “What? No. I want you to come home with me.”

Erin blinks several times in quick succession. “What?”

“What?”

“You want me to—what does that have to do with gift-giving?”

“I never said anything about gift-giving?”

Erin shakes her head. “Okay. I’m really confused. Can you start over? _What_ is going on?”

“C’mere,” Holtz says, holding out her hand for Erin to take, leading her out of the kitchen and out to the living room, where they sit side by side on the couch. Holtz sits with crossed legs and faces her.

Erin continues to guzzle her coffee, fingers on her temple.

“Maybe I should go back to the beginning?” Holtz hazards.

“Please do,” Erin says.

“Okay, so Matthew was the first.”

“…Apostle?”

Holtz snickers. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He doesn’t need any more power going to his head.”

“ _Who?”_

“My brother,” Holtz says. “Matthew.”

“Oh. Right, okay.”

“So, he was the one that started all this.”

“The competition,” Erin clarifies, trying to keep up.

“Yeah. He was the first one to bring his girlfriend to Christmas. Her name was…Eleanor? Or something like? Elizabeth? Elliot? Anora?”

“I don’t think that’s a name.”

“Well, I’m just proving my own point. She was…lackluster.”

“Holtz,” Erin chides. “Be nice.”

“No, she was. She was really forgettable.” She snaps her fingers. “And gone in the blink of an eye. They broke up, like a month later.”

“Oh.”

“So we were all like, wow, dude, you gotta step your game up. If your girlfriend can’t handle Christmas at the Holtzmann-Danielses, she’s clearly a swing and a miss. Teasing him, right? We tease a lot.”

“Sure.”

“So the next year, he brought his new girlfriend. Her name was Florida—no, like actually. She went by Flo.”

“That’s…something.”

“And we were all like, oh boy, here we go again. Let’s hope she’s better than—oh! Penelope! That was the first one’s name.”

Erin resists the urge to say that that sounds like _none_ of the names Holtz was reaching at. “Was she? Better?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Didn’t take much. But here’s the thing—the same year, Sandy’s boyfriend came to Christmas too.”

“Is that…another brother? Or one of your sisters?”

“One of my sisters.”

“Identical sisters,” Erin says, just because she still can’t believe it.

“The very same,” Holtz says. “Face, that is.” She winks.

“Okay, so, your sister’s boyfriend came as well…” Erin knows she has to keep prompting the story forward or Holtz will get distracted and get off track.

“Right, yeah. So her boyfriend, Danny—yeah, Sandy and _Danny,_ isn’t that unbelievable?—came to Christmas that year, so there was two of them. Danny and Flo. And _oh man,_ were Sandy and Matt ever competing. Each trying to prove that their significant other was better. Not in the sense that they were insulting the other one, but just that they were pumping up their own partner and parading them around like they were the next Messiah themselves. It was hilarious.”

Erin thinks that maybe, _maybe,_ she can see where this story is going now.

“Anyway, Flo didn’t last either. Danny did. He kept coming back like the good egg he is. The next year, Matt was single, probably taking a breather after his last two failures. But that year, Ricky brought his boyfriend, Vincent. And Candice—my other sister—brought her partner, too. So we had three contenders in the ring.”

“I don’t understand why you were trying to pit these poor romantic partners against each other at all.”

“Because,” Holtz says solemnly, “if there’s one thing you need to know about the Holtzmann-Daniels clan, it’s that we are Competitive. As. Fuck.”

“Okay?”

“It’s all in good fun,” Holtz promises. She’s trying hard to explain it in a way that doesn’t sound horrible and superficial. “Anyway, I can summarize a bit: every year since then, it’s the same thing. Everyone singing praises about their respective significant others, trying to convince everyone that _they’re_ the best couple. Despite the competition, you will never see _so_ much pure love and genuine intentions in one room in your life. It’s kinda spectacular. It’s not actually a competition about which person is the best, it’s about which one of my siblings is the _most_ outrageous and gives the best speech.”

“Do you…crown a winner?”

“We never used to, even though it was always obvious, but now it’s a _tradition,_ so yeah, we do. There’s a set of couple crowns and everything.”

Erin shakes her head in amazement. “This is the weirdest Christmas tradition I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“So whaddya think?”

“I just told you what I think.”

“No, I mean…” Holtz waggles her eyebrows. “Do you feel ready to enter the ring?”

“Oh.” Erin’s face heats up as she remembers how this whole conversation started. “Seriously?”

“You don’t have other plans for Christmas, right?”

Erin shakes her head. The past few years she stayed in New York over the holidays while the others went home. She didn’t mind it. She watched over the firehouse and worked. It was kind of nice.

Holtz drums her fingers on Erin’s knee. “Most of my siblings are married now. Some of them have kids. We all gather at my parents’ house every year.” She pauses. “I’m the last one left.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve never brought someone to Battle of the Beloveds before,” Holtz says, voice suddenly shy.

“Is that…what you call it?”

Holtz gives her a look.

“If you come with me,” she says carefully, “then all six of us will have someone in the running for the first time ever. The Battle Royale.” She says these last words with reverence and clutches her chest dramatically. “We have only ever dreamt of such a day.”

“You’re so weird,” Erin says. “Your family is so weird.”

“Will you come?”

Erin doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Yeah, Holtz. Of course I’ll be your date to the Battle Royale.”

Holtz’s smile could light up a Christmas tree.

Holtz’s family lives in Pennsylvania, apparently, and she says they’re driving. In the Ecto.

“Is that really, uh, wise?” Erin asks.

Holtz looks up from absentmindedly braiding Erin’s hair. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust the weather,” Erin mutters.

“Bah.” Holtz waves a hand dismissively. “We can handle a little snow.”

“But can the _Ecto?”_

“She’s tough. She made it through our last adventure.”

It took days to recover her from the street where they had to abandon her. Holtz didn’t feel comfortable letting a tow truck anywhere near her (for very good, city-wide-destruction type reasons), and returned to the scene as soon as it stopped snowing to put up caution tape and pylons. The mayor wasn’t very happy that they called in a favour to divert traffic around her for several days while they came up with a game plan for swift Ecto-removal.

The problem was that the melted tire had frozen to the ground and was damn near impossible to replace easily. It took a whole team of experts to get the tire replaced (while Holtz barked threats at anyone who so much as looked at the Ecto without her permission), but they got her home eventually.

So Erin is right to worry.

It’s not like they haven’t gone similar (or longer) distances in the past for out-of-area busts, but never during the winter.

“We leave on Saturday,” Holtz says cheerfully. “Bring your tackiest sweater and jolliest spirit.”

“That laughing man we picked up last month, probably,” Erin deadpans. “I’ll go break him out of the containment unit.”

“Didn’t Patty figure out that he was a serial killer?”

“All the merrier,” Erin says.

Holtz chuckles and leans forward to kiss the back of Erin’s head. “Oh, Erin. You’re gonna win. The others don’t stand a goddamn chance this year.”


	2. December 22nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December 1st! NaNoWriMo is officially over and I wrote 72,500 words in total :) I think of everything I wrote this month, this fic might be my favourite. Hope you guys are liking it too! Who's ready to meet Holtz's family? :D

**Saturday, December 22nd**

Soon, they’re sitting side by side in the front of the Ecto. It feels very familiar. There’s a poinsettia sliding around in the back for Holtz’s parents.

It’s the weekend before Christmas, so the roads are expectedly packed with others trying to get home for the holidays or finish up their shopping. It’s also snowing. Not hard, but enough to slow down traffic.

Erin rifles through the snack bag that they packed—they’re prepared this time in case they get stranded, with plenty of extra food, portable chargers for their phones, and blankets. She actually has one of the blankets wrapped around her right now, because the stupid car still doesn’t have functioning heaters.

She takes out a bag of trail mix and offers it to Holtz, who makes a disgusted face.

“That’s squirrel food, Erin. Gimme a sour key.”

“It’s 7:00am,” Erin says.

Holtz makes a grabby-hand motion.

“Both hands on the wheel, please,” Erin says. She finds the bag of sour keys and unties the knot—it looks like it has fewer in it than they paid for, so Holtz must have already gotten into it—and she plucks one out, wedging it in between Holtz’s teeth.

“Thank you,” Holtz says around the candy in her mouth.

Erin settles back against her seat, blanket pulled up to her chin, and digs her hand into the bag of trail mix. “So. You gotta tell me what I’m walking into. Tell me about everyone. All your siblings, your parents. I have to study.”

Holtz scoffs. “You don’t need to do anything.”

“I need to get them all straight in my head before I meet them. There are going to be a _lot_ of people there. Besides, won’t that get me points if I already know their names?”

“Fair point. Okay, so—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Erin leans forward and pulls a notebook out from the snack bag, and removes the pen tucked in the coils. She flips it open and clicks the pen. “Okay, go.”

“You are…going to take notes.”

“Yes.”

Holtz shakes her head in fond amazement. “Of course you are. You’re Erin Gilbert.”

“Get on with it. We only have another two hours for me to get this down.”

“Alright, so, parents. Dad’s name is Clifford.”

“… _No._ ”

“Oh yes. He’ll tell you to call him Cliff, though. Cliff Holtzmann.”

“Wait, wait, wait, _wait, hold up.”_

“Yes, thank you, we have all noticed the irony of our mom leaving us to go jump off cliffs. You are _decades_ late to the party with that joke.”

Erin laughs. “Sorry for interrupting, then. Continue.”

“Next—Mom. Maureen.”

“Wait, your mom is going to be there?”

Holtz waves her hand. “No, not Mom-Mom. Just Mom.”

Erin squints at her. “What’s the difference?”

“We have Mom-Mom and Mom, Mom-Mom is our mom mom, and Mom is just our mom.”

“That does not make this any clearer.”

“Mom-Mom birthed us. The cliff-diving one.”

“Okay. Got it. So Maureen is…”

“My stepmom, technically. We call her Mom.”

Erin scrawls _Cliff - Dad_ and _Maureen - Mom (not Mom-Mom)_ in her notebook.

“You following so far?” Holtz asks.

Erin nods. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“What side do you want to start on?”

“The Holtzmann side,” Erin says immediately.

Holtz turns her head to wink. “A damn good place to start.”

Erin waits, pen poised.

“Sister number one, coincidentally the oldest of the three of us by a whole four minutes and 23 seconds. Sandra. Sandy.”

“Of Sandy and Danny?”

“Look at you go! The very same. They’re still together—married. Four kids. I’ll let her introduce them.”

Erin notes down _four kids_ underneath Sandy and Danny’s names.

“Sister number two, the next oldest—”

“You’re the baby?”

“By two minutes and 10 seconds,” Holtz whines. “Don’t remind me.”

Erin hides a smile behind her blanket. “Sorry. Continue.”

“Sister number two: Candice. She’s got two partners, but only one comes to Battle. Alex.”

Erin writes it down. “Why doesn’t the other one come? Is that okay to ask?”

“Well, they live in Greece. It’s a bit of a haul.”

“Ah. Okay, that’s fair.”

“You ready to move onto the boys?”

“Hit me,” Erin says.

Holtz drums her thumbs on the steering wheel. The snow is starting to pick up outside. “Matt’s the oldest out of all six of us. He finally ended his string of bad dating luck and found a keeper. He’s married to her now—Alicia. They have one kid.”

She watches Erin jot down the names in her notebook with a nod.

“Ricky’s the next oldest of all of us. He’s still with the boyfriend he brought to his first Battle, Vincent.”

“Married?”

“Nah.”

Erin writes down that information as well.

“Last one,” Holtz says. “Charles. Little baby Charlie. He’s younger than me and my sisters, so I’m not the _actual_ baby of the family. He’s married as well. His wife’s name is Megan. They have two kids—one of them is fresh, too.”

Erin wrinkles her nose. “Excuse me?”

“Is that not…the term?” Holtz’s eyes sparkle.

“An infant, you mean? How old?”

“Two, three months? Something like that? I can’t remember what month she was born. Haven’t met her yet. She was like, early, though.”

“Premature?”

“Yeah, that’s the word. Teeny tiny. I keep getting snaps of her sent to me. It’s excellent.”

Erin looks over her notes and counts. “So, seven kids in total? You have seven nieces and nephews?”

“Sure do,” Holtz says. “More than half of them are Sandy’s, so you can blame her for that.”

“This doesn’t seem that intimidating,” Erin murmurs. “Are these all the people that will be there?”

“Oh, not even close.” Holtz grins. “I’ve also got three sets of grandparents.”

“ _Oh.”_

“They’re all still kickin’ too. Amazing, right? They all come on Christmas. Even my Mom’s parents. Mom-Mom.”

“Okay. That’s not…too many extra people.”

“Christmas Eve is when we have our big family party, though, and that’s when things really get cooking,” Holtz says contemplatively. “That’s when my aunts and uncles and cousins show up.”

Erin pales.

“Don’t worry,” Holtz teases. “Nobody will expect you to know all their names too.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Erin mumbles. “That just sounds like…a lot of people.”

“If I can get through it, you can too,” Holtz assures her. “But if it’s too much, you can always go hide. I’ve definitely done it before. I’ll build ya a blanket fort in my bedroom.”

“Are we staying there? At your parents’ house?”

“Of course. We all do. Well, not Sandy and fam. They’re the only ones who still live in Pringle, so they’ll be at their own house. Same with my grandparents. But the rest of us will all be staying there.”

“I’m sorry, still live in _where?”_

Holtz shoots her a grin. “Pringle. That’s where we’re going.”

“Is that a _place?”_

“It’s my hometown, Gilbert. Would you expect anything different of me?”

“ _Pringle.”_

“Pringle, Pennsylvania. It’s very small. Everyone knows everyone.” Holtz eyes her with mirth. “Did I not mention this before?”

“You really didn’t,” Erin says. “Okay. Pringle. Alright. That…checks out. You were saying? Sandy still lives there?”

“Yep. The rest of us got out, but she never wanted to. She likes it there.”

“And you…don’t?”

“It’s a little too small for me,” Holtz admits. “You’ll see.”

“But…your house…is big enough for all of us to stay there.”

“Yep. It gets cozy, but that’s part of the tradition.”

“How many aunts and uncles do you have?”

“Eight, including spouses.”

“That’s not too bad. How many cousins?”

“Six. Plus two partners. And four kids.”

“Is there anybody else besides them and your grandparents who will be there?”

“Nope,” Holtz says cheerfully. “Just the 47 of us.”

“ _47?”_

“Don’t panic. We’re a friendly bunch.” Holtz pauses. “Except Uncle Patrick. He’s a bit of a creep. We’ll steer clear of him.”

Erin snorts. “How is your family so _big?_ I have like, one uncle—who I’ve never met—and no cousins. It’s just me and my parents.”

Holtz shrugs. “This is just the aftermath of having a blended family. Most of my cousins are on the Daniels side. My dad only has one brother, who only had one kid. Our Mom-Mom is an only child.”

“Still,” Erin says.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Holtz says. “You’ll be a part of the family in no time. Everyone is going to love you.”

“I wasn’t worried about that either, but now I am.”

Holtz chuckles and puts on her turn signal to pass a car that’s going far slower than necessary, even with the snow.

They drive in silence for a few minutes.

“Why have you never brought anyone before?” Erin asks abruptly.

Holtz smiles wryly. “I've never been in a relationship before.”

Erin frowns. “Never? Not even a fling?”

“Well, first of all, you don't bring _flings_ to Battle of the Beloveds. You bring serious contenders only.” Holtz smirks. “But no, not even a fling.”

“What constitutes a serious contender?”

“Someone you're serious about,” Holtz says simply.

Erin blushes a little at that.

Something occurs to her suddenly. “What are you going to introduce me as?”

“Um…I was gonna go with Erin?” Holtz pauses. “Why, is there another name you’d prefer?”

“No, no, I just mean…we haven’t really…talked about…”

“Ooooh. I see. You wanna know if I’m gonna introduce you as my girlfriend.”

Erin blushes more.

Holtz smiles. “Do you _want_ me to introduce you as my girlfriend?”

“Well, I mean…I _am_ your contender for Battle of the Beloveds…don’t you think that has certain implications anyway?”

Holtz’s smile turns into a full-on grin. “We’ve had entrants that are called all sorts of things. Partners. Significant others. Non-disclosed competitors.” She increases the speed of her windshield wipers to combat the increasing snow. “It reaaaally depends on the relationship.”

“Okay, Holtz, that’s great, but I’m really just trying to ask you what we are.”

Holtz laughs. “And I’m gonna ask you again—do you want me to introduce you as my girlfriend?”

There’s a pause as Erin considers that. “Yes. Would you like another sour key?”

Holtz holds out her hand. “Abso-fuckin-lutely, girlfriend.”

“Both hands on the wheel, please.”

Despite traffic slowing to a near-stop multiple times, they still manage to make it to Pringle by lunchtime, which was their intention.

“You did great, baby,” Holtz purrs as she pulls the key from the ignition.

“Oh,” Erin says. “Um…”

Holtz kisses the steering wheel with a big smack.

“Oh. You were talking to the car.”

Holtz peels herself up off the steering wheel with a grin and grabs Erin’s hand, pulling it to her mouth to press a loud, wet kiss to the back of it. “Oh, you’re gonna get a better pet name than _that._ ”

“Okay?”

Holtz gets both of their suitcases and the garbage bag full of wrapped presents, which she throws over her shoulder like Santa. Erin gets the snack bag and the poinsettia.

“You ready for this, sugarplum?”

Erin makes a face.

Holtz hoots loudly and surges forward towards the house.

The woman who answers the door looks like she’s early sixties, with dark, greying hair. She’s wearing jeans and a hoodie that says _go elf yourself_.

She immediately screams, like, actually screams, and pulls Holtz in for a hug. She rocks her back and forth.

“You _made it!”_

She finally lets her go and steps back, looking her over.

“Wonderful. _Wonderful,”_ she says. “Welcome home, honey.”

“Erin?” Holtz gestures behind her for Erin to come closer. “Meet my mom.”

Erin extends her free hand but Maureen blatantly ignores it and steps around Holtz to give her a squeezing, rocking hug as well.

“ _Erin._ Erin, it is so lovely to meet you. Thank you for coming. We are all _so_ happy you’re here.” Maureen pulls back to give her a beaming smile.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Maureen,” Erin says, stammering slightly. She’s a little taken aback by the immediate warmth. Her own mother has never hugged her. “Um, this is for you.” She holds the poinsettia out.

“This is simply _lovely_. I know _just_ the place for it! And please, call me Mo,” Maureen says as she takes the plant. “Or Mom! That little extra letter is up to you, dear!”

Erin smiles.

“Come in, come in! Out of the cold!” Mo sets the poinsettia down inside and grabs a suitcase in each hand, tugging them over the threshold.

They follow her inside to the warm house.

It’s big, definitely big, but cozy. Homey. Christmas decorations are everywhere, but they don’t match. That strikes Erin. The Christmas decorations at her parents’ house were always all silver and blue. Here there are seemingly hundreds of little festive knickknacks, some clearly handmade, others looking like they were made by local artisans, others looking just as mass-produced as Erin is used to. A string of multi-coloured lights winds around the banister heading up the stairs.

It’s wonderful.

The house is bustling, too. At least two people pass through the foyer as they take off their boots. There’s loud chatter coming from elsewhere in the house, laughter. Christmas music is playing somewhere.

It feels like home.

Not Erin’s home—but _home_.

After they’ve shed their outerwear, Mo chattering happily the entire time, they follow her down the hall.

“Almost everyone is in the kitchen,” she says. “We’ve been waiting for you to get here.”

The step into the kitchen, which is crammed full of people, and the chatter doesn’t stop, but they do turn some heads.

A tall, dark-haired man who looks to be in his forties wolf-whistles. “Jay is here!”

There’s some scattered applause. Someone hoots.

Holtz claps her hands together twice. “Siblings! Assemble!”

There’s movement as people step around each other, coming closer, some of them giving Holtz one-armed hugs. Erin hovers by the door, a little overwhelmed, trying to stay out of the way.

Holtz turns back, reaches for her and pulls her closer by her waist. “You good?” she says in her ear.

Erin nods. “I’m ready. Introduce me.”

Holtz grins, rolling back her shoulders. “Sandy, Candy, Ricky, Matty, Charlie,” she rattles off rapid-fire, pointing quickly to each one in turn.

“But not Jilly?” Erin teases.

Holtz snorts. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

“I like this one already,” someone says.

Erin takes in who’s in front of her, finally, and it takes her breath away.

Another Holtz. _Two_ other Holtzes.

She saw the picture of the three of them, but seeing them in the flesh is a whole other thing.

Holtz notices her amazement. “That’s Candy.”

“Candice,” she corrects. “You’re the only one that calls me that.”

“How else would I be able to call you guys Sandy-Candy?”

“We never asked you to call us that,” says the other one.

They’re all very different looking, Erin realizes. The photo she saw must have been taken a while ago.

Candice has the same grin as Holtz. Her blonde hair is wild, curly. The style reminds Erin of River Song. She’s wearing a bright, patterned dress that flares out with a wide skirt. Little cartoon mistletoes. It’s a very bold look. Familiar, somehow.

“I’m trying to figure out who you look like,” Erin says, staring at her.

“Is it Jay? ’Cause people say we have the same face.” Candice throws her a wink.

Laughter across the room.

“Ms. Frizzle!” Erin all but shouts.

More laughter.

Candice lights up with glee. “I get that all the time too!”

“She’s a children’s librarian,” Holtz says, “and she’s got hundreds of dresses like that. So yeah, she _does_ get that all the time.”

“She’s all I aspire to be in life,” Candice deadpans.

The other triplet, Sandy, is so, so different. Her hair, the same blonde, is pulled back into a conservative bun with a slender headband. She’s wearing a pale pink sweater. A dainty gold cross necklace rests over it.

Erin suddenly feels self-conscious about Holtz’s arm around her waist.

“Everyone,” Holtz says loudly, “this is my girlfriend, Erin Gilbert.”

More hoots, cheers. Erin’s face heats up.

Fists pound on the kitchen table, getting into a rhythm.

And then suddenly they’re all singing. All of them.

“ _Oh Erin, you’re so fine. You’re so fine you blow our minds. Hey Erin! Hey Erin!”_

Everyone’s clapping along to the beat. Holtz is shaking her ass in time.

“ _Oh Erin, you’re not dull. Won’t you join our great Battle? Hey Erin! Hey Erin!”_

On cue, they all stop. You could hear a pin drop. All eyes are on her.

“Um…yes?” she squeaks.

The resounding cheers she’s met with are loud enough that she almost covers her ears.

They start up again, all of them singing at the top of their lungs, clapping, stomping, pounding on the walls. “ _Oh Erin, you’re so fine. You’re so fine you blow our minds. Hey Erin! Hey Erin!”_

This goes on for several minutes.

Holtz eventually steers her by the elbow out of the kitchen into the hallway.

“So, whaddya think?”

“I think your family might be a cult,” Erin says.

Holtz throws her head back in laughter.

Mo steps out into the hallway while they’re taking a breather and presses plates of food into their hands. She pats Erin on the back. “Welcome to the nuthouse,” she says, then leaves again.

Erin has no clue what she’s eating—some sort of very thick stew?—but all she’s eaten today is trail mix and a couple of Holtz’s sour keys, so she starts wolfing it down anyway. It’s very good.

Sandy passes by them, balancing an impossible number of tiny bowls in her arms.

“All the kids are in the living room with Dad,” she says as she walks by.

“Excellent,” Holtz says. “Come on, let’s go hang out with the kids.”

Erin catches her elbow as she starts to walk away. “Wait.”

Holtz turns back, cocking her head in confusion.

Erin’s voice is low, nervous. “Is she, um…”

“My sister?” Holtz supplies. “Yeah.”

Erin snorts and gives her a little shove. “No, is she…okay with…um…us?”

Comprehension dawns on Holtz. “Oooh. Because of the—” She draws a cross on her chest.

Erin nods.

“Yeah. She’s cool. We don’t tolerate hatred in this family—only love. Not that she ever hated me. But just so _you_ know what kinda environment you’re walkin’ into.”

Erin smiles with relief. “Okay.”

Holtz jerks her head towards the living room. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

By the time they get to the living room, Sandy has doled out lunch to all the kids, and they’re all too absorbed in eating to notice their entrance. There are several adults, too—an older man who Erin guesses is Holtz’s dad, and two women about Holtz’s age, one of whom is nursing a baby.

Sandy intercepts them before they can get any further into the room.

“I feel like we need a proper introduction,” she says warmly, hands gesturing as she talks. “Sandy Beech. It’s so nice to meet you, Erin.”

Erin’s eyes dart to Holtz, who is grinning.

“Don’t worry—we’ve been teasing her for _years_ that she married into _that one_.”

Erin laughs nervously. “It’s lovely to meet you, too.”

“Auntie Jay!” several young voices cry out, suddenly noticing them. A few of the children come running, a young blond boy and an even younger girl with brown pigtails. The boy wraps his arms around Holtz.

“Which ones are yours?” Erin asks Sandy.

Sandy smiles. “The Beech Boys,” she says.

Erin actually laughs this time.

“My oldest is Landon—the one on his phone on the couch who hasn’t looked up yet.”

Sandy continues to gesture as she speaks, and Erin realizes belatedly, stupidly, that she’s not just gesturing—she’s signing. In ASL.

“The twins are Alton and Ashton,” Sandy says, referencing two identical blond boys of about 10 or 11. “Multiples run in the family,” she jokes.

Erin smiles.

“And then my youngest, Milton,” Sandy says, nodding her head at the boy with Holtz.

Holtz has crouched into a squat, her plate abandoned on the floor beside her. She’s signing something to Milton in front of her. The other kid, the young girl, is clinging to her side.

Holtz looks up at her. “This is my girlfriend, Erin,” she says and signs, finger-spelling Erin’s name.

Erin only knows a few words in ASL, and she can remember most of the alphabet. She signs hello, because that’s one she _does_ have down.

“So, the famous Erin Gilbert,” a booming voice says.

Erin looks up to see Holtz’s dad in front of her.

He’s a big guy—broad, tall, _large._ He looks like he might be a military man. There’s just something about him.

“Yes sir,” she blurts nervously.

He laughs, booming, warm, hearty. “Oh god. Don’t you dare. It’s Cliff or nothing, sweetheart.”

She’s been called sweetheart by many men before, men she’s worked with, men she’s dated, and it’s always made her feel like crawling into a hole and shriveling up.

But he doesn’t say it diminutively. He says it affectionately. With love. Like he already considers her a daughter.

He holds his arms open. “We’re a family of huggers. Are you? You can say no.”

It’s definitely not what she’s used to, but it’s something she wants. Undoubtedly. She steps forward and into Cliff’s embrace. He smells like cinnamon.

“We’re so glad you’re here, Erin,” he says, giving her one last squeeze before letting her go. “I hear you’ve been making my daughter very happy.”

Erin looks over to Holtz with surprise. “You’ve been talking about me a lot?”

Holtz winks as she stands up, taking her niece with her and spinning her around. “Bragging is the name of the game, Er.”

“She’s been talking about you for months,” Cliff says.

Erin crosses her arms with a smug expression. “ _Months,_ Holtz?”

Holtz isn’t embarrassed. So what if she’s been talking about Erin for longer than they’ve been a couple? It’s _Erin._ Of course she’s been talking about her.

She sets her niece down, taking her hand instead, and motions for Erin to follow them across the room to where her sisters-in-law are sitting with her other nieces. Alicia stands up to give her a hug.

“It’s good to _see youuu_ ,” she says happily.

“Erin? This is Alicia, the brave soul who married my brother.”

Erin steps forward. “Which one?”

Alicia smiles. “Matthew.” She touches the shoulder of the young girl sitting next to her on the couch and reading. “And this is our daughter, Chloe.”

“Hello, little miss Chloe May,” Holtz says. “My, how you’ve grown. How old are you now?”

Chloe barely glances up from her book. “Seven,” she says.

“Unreal,” Holtz says. “Congratulations!” She releases her other niece’s hand and ruffles her hair. “And this little koala bear is Charlie’s offspring, Elaine.”

Elaine holds up four fingers. “I’m four!”

Holtz covers her mouth with her hand and gasps. “Are you _really?”_

The nursing woman smiles as she transfers the baby to her shoulder to burp. “I’m Charlie’s wife, Megan. It’s really nice to meet you, Erin.”

“You too,” Erin says. She leans forward to try to get a better look of the baby. “And who is this cutie?”

Holtz holds up a hand. “ _Wait!_ I know this. It’s something…uhhhhhhhhhhh…oh! Tree?” She frowns to herself. “That can’t be right.”

Cliff laughs behind them.

“It’s Willa,” Megan says dryly.

“I was close,” Holtz says, winking at Erin.

“Okay,” Erin says, rolling back her shoulders. “Let’s see if I can remember everyone. Megan—Charlie’s wife. Baby Willa and Elaine.” She looks over. “Matthew’s wife, Alicia, and daughter Chloe.” She turns around. “The Beech Boys. Landon. Alton and Ashton—sorry, I don’t know which one of you is which. Milton.” She looks towards the door. “Sandy. Annnndddd last but not least, Cliff.”

Holtz whistles. “Okay, looks like you can remember names well enough for the both of us.”

Erin smiles smugly. “It’s all mnemonics.” She falters when she sees a new man in the doorway.

He waves. “Hi, Erin. I’m Danny.” He also signs while he talks, like Sandy does.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. She has a feeling that she’s going to be saying that a lot over the coming days.

They hang out in the living room for a few hours, taking turns holding baby Willa and talking to Alicia and Megan and the kids.

Other people filter in and out. Mo sits with them for a bit. Matthew comes in—he was the tall, dark-haired man who wolf-whistled in the kitchen when they came in. He’s a sports announcer, Erin finds out. He’s very loud.

Charlie comes in too and takes the baby. He’s short, pudgy, a character. He’s a salesman. It shows. He has them all in hysterics within minutes.

His wife, Megan, is a marine biologist. She says she can’t wait to go back to work.

Alicia, on the other hand, is a general contractor. Aside from her actual job, she also oversaw the construction of her and Matthew’s house in Chicago. She shows pictures. It’s beautiful.

Holtz plays with Lego on the floor with the kids. Erin tries to talk to Chloe, but it proves impossible to tear her from her book.

Mo comes back in with a big Tupperware full of cookies that she offers around. Some more of the kitchen crowd joins them. Erin meets Candice’s partner, Alex. She meets Holtz’s third brother, Ricky, and his boyfriend Vincent. Ricky works as a literary agent, and Vincent’s an anesthesiologist. Ricky’s very sarcastic. He’s the only one out of all of them who calls Holtz… _Holtz_. The rest of them call her Jay. Well, except—

“How’s work going, Bean?” Cliff asks.

The tips of Holtz’s ears turn red. “Good, good.”

A slow smile spreads across Erin’s face.

Holtz points. “ _Don’t._ It’s a remnant from my early childhood.”

Erin’s smile turns positively gleeful. “ _Wait_. Early childhood…” She claps her hands together. “Oh my god! Oh my _god_.”

“Nooooooooooo.”

“He used to call you _Jilly-Bean!_ Oh my _god!”_

Holtz’s whole chest is red now. “I hate youuuu,” she singsongs.

Cliff is laughing. “Lock this one down, Bean,” he says. “You need someone who can keep you on your toes.”

Now Erin blushes.

Dinner is another scattered affair—there are too many people in the house to all sit together in one room. Erin learns that Cliff is the cook in the family.

She also learns that he’s not a military man at all—he owns and operates a small bookstore in town. It’s very unexpected. Holtz promises to take her there tomorrow.

The evening only starts to wind down when the kids start hitting their bedtimes. Sandy and Danny take off for home with the boys because they’re going to church early tomorrow. Megan puts four-year-old Elaine to bed upstairs. The baby is already asleep.

Chloe eventually gets pried away from her book and taken upstairs, piggybacking on Matthew as he carries her out of the room. Erin follows them with her eyes.

Holtz leans in close. “She has this super rare heart condition,” she says in Erin’s ear. “She has to be careful exerting herself.”

Erin pulls back and looks at her with troubled eyes. “Oh. Is she…okay?”

Holtz shrugs one shoulder and smiles sadly, not wanting to talk much more about it with everyone around.

Eventually, the rest of the adults start dispersing, too. They say goodnight to everyone, and then Holtz takes Erin by the hand and leads her up the stairs.

The house has three floors, and her childhood bedroom is on the third.

Erin’s first impression is that it’s…fairly plain. The walls are painted in a fairly neutral blue. There’s a queen-sized bed with white bedding. Their two suitcases are sitting by the closet—she’s not sure who brought them up for them.

Then she notices that part of the windowsill is burnt, and _that_ is the kind of decor she’s come to associate with Holtz.

Holtz follows her gaze. “I know what you’re thinking, but that wasn’t me. It was Sandy. She was sitting in the window smoking pot and got distracted.”

Erin nearly chokes. “ _Really?_ ”

“Wouldn’t have expected it from her, right?” Holtz laughs. “The Jesus-loving stay-at-home-mom vibes have led you astray.”

“So, did you…share this room with her?”

“Yup,” Holtz says. “Candice got her own room.”

“Did it always look like this?” Erin gestures around.

“Pretty close,” Holtz says. “The two of us are so different that we couldn’t really agree on how to decorate the room. We went as neutral as possible. We both had some posters up back in the day, but those are in storage now.”

“Okay, I don’t feel quite as lost now,” Erin says with a laugh. “I was having a crisis thinking that _this_ is what you chose for your childhood bedroom. I mean—I’ve seen your room _now_ , and it’s…”

Holtz winks. “There’s a reason we spend most nights in your room instead of mine.”

They get ready for bed, changing into their pajamas and brushing their teeth in the bathroom down the hall. They run into Candice on their way back. Her pajamas are also a funky, bright pattern. She says goodnight and slips into the room beside Holtz’s.

Holtz shuts the light off and they crawl under the covers. Erin wraps her arm around Holtz and pulls her close.

They settle in, just breathing.

“This is a very comfy bed,” Erin says after a while.

“My parents finally got rid of the bunk bed a few years ago,” Holtz says. “Imagine if we had to deal with _that_ while we were staying here.”

Erin laughs softly and snuggles closer. “So why was Candice the one who got her own room? Random draw?”

“Oh, no, she performs Shakespeare in her sleep.”

“What?”

“Yeah, ever since she was a kid. You don’t know true fear until it’s the middle of the night and your sister is screaming _OUT DAMNED SPOT.”_ Holtz shouts this last part.

There’s a deliberate, hollow thud that shakes the wall beside them.

“Of course, we could still hear her through the wall,” Holtz deadpans.

Erin snickers quietly. She slides her other hand up Holtz’s torso and lets her hand rest over her heart like she usually does while they’re trying to fall asleep.

“Thank you for letting me come here,” she says softly.

“ _Letting you_. Pssh. I _wanted_ you to come.”

Erin bites her lip. “I really love your family.”

“Really? I know we’re pretty…”

“Crazy? Yeah. Definitely crazy. And weird. _So_ weird.” Erin pauses. “I love it. I’ve never seen a family like yours. I didn’t know there _were_ families like yours.”

“We’re pretty special, yeah.”

Erin feels Holtz’s heartbeat under her palm. “I feel like I’m _part_ of something special. Being here. In this house. With your family, and your traditions. Having everyone treat me like I’m part of the family. It’s…really nice.”

“It feels a little surreal having you here this year to be a part of our Christmas. I’m…really glad you came.” Holtz buries her face into Erin’s hair. “Every other year I’ve been alone. Not _actually_ alone, I have my family, y’know, but…at the end of the night I’ve come up here and had nobody when everyone else has had _somebody_. And I’m really happy that I have somebody now too. And I’m even happier that my _somebody_ is you.”

Erin swallows the lump in her throat. “I’m really, really happy that you’re my _somebody_ too, Holtz.”


	3. December 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to realize that I only have two weeks to finish this fic, yikes. Onwards!

**Sunday, December 23rd**

They wake up to the smell of breakfast food.

Erin can’t identify exactly what it is. A mix of scents—sweet and savoury. Maybe eggs. Some sort of meat. Waffles or pancakes or French toast.

Whatever it is, it smells good.

Holtz is still snoring softly with a faint nose whistle. One of her arms is slung over Erin’s torso, effectively pinning her to the bed.

Erin wouldn’t mind—she likes spending lazy mornings cuddling in bed—but the food smells _really_ good, and her stomach is rumbling.

The sound is loud enough to wake Holtz up. She yawns and stretches like a cat, all of her limbs extending, and then curls into Erin’s side.

“Good morning,” she says sleepily. “Hungry?”

Erin’s stomach grumbles again. “Little bit.”

“Good.” Holtz throws back the covers and springs up. She’s one of those people who can wake up almost instantly, asleep to fully alert like the flip of a switch. She tucks and rolls out of the bed and bounds for the door, then pauses when she sees the pile in front of it.

She picks the top bundle up and unfurls it, then turns around with glee to show Erin.

“Look what Mom dropped off!”

Erin squints, and Holtz takes a moment just to appreciate the sight of a sleepy Erin waking up in her childhood bedroom.

“Is that a robe?” Erin asks.

“Not just any robe—the 2018 Holtzmann-Daniels Christmas Robe!”

This year they’re blue, covered in appliqued snowflakes that are flaking glitter to the floor. The embroidery over the front pocket says _There’s snow place like home!_

She flips it around so Erin can see the back.

“That…has my name on it,” Erin says.

“Of course it does. It’s yours.” Holtz bends to pick up the second robe from the floor and then tosses Erin’s at the bed.

Erin snags it out of the air. “Oh. This is very soft,” she says, running her thumb along the fleecy material.

Holtz is already shrugging hers on. “Come on—we don’t want to miss breakfast.”

“Am I, um, supposed to wear this?”

Holtz gives her a look.

Everybody in the house is wearing matching robes.

Downstairs is a sea of blue fleece, people bustling around with plates piled high, saying good morning to each other.

Every surface in the kitchen is covered with food. Piled with it. There’s a mountain of bacon and sausages. There’s a gigantic vat of scrambled eggs, a plate of fried eggs, and a plate of hard boiled eggs. There’s a stack of buttered toast two feet high. There’s are waffles _and_ pancakes _and_ French toast. There are muffins. There is fruit. There is, inexplicably, a cheesecake.

“We take breakfast very seriously,” Holtz says.

“Why is there a cheesecake?”

“There’s fruit on it.”

“And chocolate.”

“You better believe it. You want some?”

“…Yes.”

After breakfast, they lounge around for a bit, talking to people. Everyone is around except for Sandy, Danny, and the boys, who are all at church.

The two of them sit crammed on the couch with Candice and Alex. Holtz has one arm around Erin, the other waving wildly as she tells stories from work. Erin has her hand on Holtz’s thigh, absentmindedly thumbing the soft fabric of her robe.

Mo keeps shooting them smug expressions. Erin notices and the tips of her ears turn pink. Holtz notices and squeezes Erin a little tighter.

They help clean up the mess from breakfast. Holtz ends up getting in a food fight with her brother Matthew.

Mo joins Erin in the doorway of the kitchen.

“I’m glad she has you,” she says. “She seems really happy.”

Erin looks at her with surprise. “Oh. Yeah, um, I think she was pretty excited to have finally have someone to enter into the Battle.”

Mo rolls her eyes affectionately. “Oh, who cares about that? No, she seems like she loves you very much. This is the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”

Erin’s cheeks redden. Across the kitchen, Holtz has Matthew in a headlock, which is really quite impressive given that he’s a good foot-and-a-half taller than her. She’s also shoving a fistful of cheesecake down the back of his shirt.

“I love her very much, too,” Erin says softly, unable to keep from smiling.

Holtz has to have a shower to wash breakfast off her, but once she’s done, they get dressed and hit the town.

They’re walking down the street when Erin spots it. The little storefront, books piled in the window display, with a hand-painted sign hanging that reads _HOLTZMANN’S._

“Oh my god,” Erin says. “I didn’t even _think_ about it being called—”

Holtz skips ahead, twirling on the sidewalk, miming lassoing Erin and pulling her closer.

She takes a photo of Erin standing under the sign, pointing up at it. They text it to Abby and Patty.

“You are, aren’t you?” Holtz asks.

“I am what?”

She points overhead with a wild grin. “Holtzmann’s.”

Erin giggles and takes her elbow.

It’s a magnificent bookstore.

It’s small—crammed from floor to ceiling with stacks upon stacks of books. There must be some sort of organization to them, but Erin can’t for the life of her figure out what it is.

She runs her fingertips along the spines.

“This place is amazing,” she murmurs.

Holtz is hanging off a ladder. “I knew you’d like it. Take whatever you want—we can add it to my tab.”

“Your dad doesn’t make you pay?”

Holtz smiles. “He will eventually.”

Erin’s gaze follows the stack in front of her all the way up to the top. “This feels like something out of a cheesy Christmas movie.”

Holtz snickers.

“Is the store always closed on Sundays?” Erin asks.

“Weekends, yeah. And then he’s closed until the 27th.”

“I would think it’s a busy time of year for sales, though,” Erin comments. “I’m surprised he isn’t open this weekend for last-minute shoppers.”

“Oh Erin,” Holtz says with a laugh and shake of her head. “If anyone is looking to buy something last minute, they’ll call our home number and Dad will come meet them here. Or deliver it directly to their house. Everyone knows he closes for Christmas.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. In fact, it usually happens at least once every year, so keep your ears out. He’ll get a call and swing by at some point. Guarantee it.”

Erin bends in front of one stack and examines a title. “How am I supposed to get one of these out without toppling the whole store over?”

Holtz leaps down from the ladder. “Allow me. I’ve been an expert book-plucker since before I could walk.”

“That one,” Erin says, pointing at the spine.

Holtz extracts it with careful, practiced precision, and hands it to Erin. “Et voila!”

Erin hugs the book to her chest. “Thank you.”

They end up sitting in the pair of cushy armchairs in the corner of the store and reading for a while, not in any rush to get anywhere. Snow falls softly outside. Holtz reads a book of fairy tales.

“When I was a kid I used to dream about this stuff,” she says, rapping her knuckles on the hardcover.

Erin looks up with interest. “Really?”

“Yeah. I could just envision it. Slaying Prince Charming and riding off into the sunset on the back of a dragon.” She sighs happily.

Erin laughs. “I don’t remember reading that one.”

“Oh, it’s all right here.” Holtz lifts the book and clears her throat. “And then the princess sliced the prince’s head off with her sword, and she set off to find her Princess Charming with the help of her fire-breathing dragon, and she lived happily ever after.”

Erin peels herself off her chair and curls up on Holtz’s lap instead, looping one arm around the back of her neck. “Did she? Find her Princess Charming?”

“Well, she _did_ live happily ever after, soooo…”

Erin presses a kiss to the top of her head.

After they’ve wandered the small town, they return to the house for a lunch just as chaotic as breakfast. Then they get in the Ecto and go for a drive.

They pass through a borough called Forty Fort, which makes Erin laugh so hard that she nearly chokes, and then they head to the river and park in front of it. They sit on the hood of the car despite it being cold and still faintly snowing.

“When I was a kid I used to come here all the time,” Holtz says. “Just to sit here and think.”

They watch the water pass.

“What’s your mom’s name?” Erin asks abruptly. “Your mom-mom.”

“Carmen,” Holtz answers instantly.

“Carmen,” Erin repeats.

“We always used to say ‘Where in the world is Carmen Kirk?’” Holtz smiles to herself as she remembers.

“Where _is_ she? Do you know?”

“Last I heard? Somewhere in Asia. I can’t remember where. I don’t know if she said. I got a postcard for my birthday.”

“Oh.” Erin chews on her lip. “Do you ever wish she was around?”

“When we were kids, or now?”

“Both?”

“When we were kids we didn’t understand it as much as we do now. It was hard, you know? Feeling like she had abandoned us. But, y’know, I grew up. And I understood. And I forgave her. Because all things considered, she’s been a good mom. I know plenty of people whose parents were there all along but who weren’t _there_ , you know? People who never wanted kids and treated their children as such. But Mom never did that. She stepped back and did the right thing.”

Holtz swings her feet. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love us. In fact, I think she loved us so much that she knew leaving was the right thing. And now—sure, I don’t get to see her as frequently as I like, but she’s never missed a birthday, I know she’s always thinking about us, and she’s never made us feel like she’s _gone._ She’s basically like an aunt to us, when it comes down to it. An awesome aunt. Who I love very much.”

Erin smiles. “I’m glad.”

Holtz leans her head on Erin’s shoulder.

“So, where to next?” Erin asks.

“Have I mentioned yet that there’s a place called Yatesville like 15 minutes from here?”

Erin’s head turns. “Oh my _god.”_

Holtz grins and hops off the hood of the car.

After they romp around in (very boring) Yatesville, they drive back to Pringle.

“Tonight’s the night we watch the Christmas movie,” Holtz announces as they drive.

“Which Christmas movie?”

“Don’t know yet.” Holtz glances at Erin with a grin. “There’s a reason there’s a whole afternoon and evening dedicated to it every year.”

“Can people not agree?”

“Oh, no, it’s a breeze getting 20 people to pick a movie. Haven’t you ever tried to pick something to watch with somebody before?”

“I’ve tried to pick something to watch with _you_ before,” Erin says. “Abby and Patty and I can usually agree on something, but I’m pretty sure you always go against what the rest of us want on purpose.”

Holtz winks.

The Picking of the Christmas Movie commences at 3:00pm on the dot. Everyone piles into the living room, including Sandy and the gang, and it’s already utter mayhem. Erin and Holtz end up sitting on the floor, backs against the couch.

“Attention everyone!” Mo shouts by the TV. “We have five movies on the ballot this year. _Elf, Frosty the Snowman, Santa Clause is Comin’ to Town, A Charlie Brown Christmas,_ and _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_.”

Holtz raises her hand. “Which _Grinch?_ ”

“The original,” Mo says. “Any other questions—yes, Jay?”

Holtz has her hand raised again. “Can I ask why the 2007 classic _Shrek the Halls_ is not on the ballot this year?”

“No, you may not.”

Holtz puts her hand back down.

“So!” Mo holds up a stack of index cards and a Santa hat. “We will be voting by secret ballot as per the Picking of the Christmas Movie Manifesto of 2005. As always, ballots which have been tampered with, list more than one movie, or list a movie _not_ on the roster will not be counted. And anyone found trying to vote twice or sway the vote of another voter will be removed from the room.” She looks pointedly at Holtz.

“I have no idea why you’re looking at me,” Holtz says, whistling innocently.

The first round of votes is counted and tallied on a piece of flip-chart paper on a stand by the TV, revealing the top two contenders: _Elf_ and _A Charlie Brown Christmas_. Holtz throws her pen at the wall with a heavy, disappointed sigh.

Then they all get another blank slip of paper handed out to them, and they get to vote between the two.

_Elf_ wins, clearly a favourite among the kids, who cheer with glee when the final vote is announced.

Soon, the living room is being transformed into a gigantic blanket nest, and enough snacks are distributed to feed an army. There are a dozen massive bowls of popcorn scattered throughout the room. A candy and chocolate station is set up in the corner and everyone fills a bag for themselves. There’s also chips and dip, and a tray of veggies, some fruit leftover from breakfast, and some other finger food. Cliff ladles hot chocolate into cups and passes them out.

By the time everything is ready and everyone is settled, it’s well after 6:00pm.

“Stop elbowing me,” Erin says, squirming under the duvet from Holtz’s bedroom.

Holtz turns to her, licorice hanging from her teeth. “Whazzat?”

“Movie is starting!” someone calls.

It doesn’t really quiet down. At all. Erin has never heard so much chatter during a movie before. At least the subtitles are on.

Holtz apparently has the entire movie memorized, because she’s saying every single line in Erin’s ear in perfect synchronization with the actors without even looking at the screen.

“You’re telling me this _isn’t_ the movie you voted for?” Erin asks in disbelief.

Holtz winks and digs her hand in her bag of candy.

About halfway through the movie, four-year-old Elaine gets antsy and crawls onto Erin’s lap. Holtz plays patty-cake with her. A bowl of popcorn gets upended in the process. She somehow still manages to keep quoting the movie.

By the time the credits roll, Elaine is asleep (along with several adults in the room) and most of the other kids are running around, hyped up on sugar. This includes Holtz.

“They’re never going to sleep tonight,” Alicia says with a shake of her head as she gathers up discarded candy bags and empty plates.

“They’ll probably crash soon,” Erin comments as she scoops popcorn off the floor into a garbage bag.

Holtz does crash. She follows Erin up the stairs with her duvet wrapped around her shoulders, and then falls right into bed, face-down.

“You have to get ready for bed before you fall asleep,” Erin says.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Holtz says, voice muffled by the blanket. She rolls over onto her back and sighs dramatically.

Erin shrugs. “Okay. Sleep in that. I don’t care.”

“Fiiiine,” Holtz grumbles playfully, struggling herself upright and shedding her shirt faster than Erin can blink. “Toss me my PJs.”

Erin does.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” she says.

Holtz makes some sort of sleepy noise in response.

When Erin gets to the bathroom with her toiletry bag, she’s surprised to find Candice standing at the sink.

Erin immediately backs up. “Oh—sorry, I’ll—”

Candice steps to the side to make room. “It’s okay.”

Erin hesitantly steps beside her and takes out her toothbrush and toothpaste. Candice continues to remove her makeup. Erin resists the urge to stare as she runs her toothbrush under the tap.

It’s still so _weird_. They’ve got the exact same _face_.

“How long have you been dating Jay?”

Erin blinks, toothbrush frozen in her mouth. She spits into the sink and straightens up. “Umm…I don’t…know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No,” Erin says. “I—we—it was kind of just something that snuck up on us.”

Candice looks like she doesn’t buy it. “Alright…”

“I guess…since last month, kinda?”

“Huh.”

“What—what’s ‘huh’?”

“Well, she’s been talking about you for years.”

Erin bites her lip, somehow not surprised by that claim. “Well. Like I said…it snuck up on us.”

“On _both_ of you, or just you?” Candice probes.

“Does it matter?” Erin says, and then smiles to herself as she hears Holtz asking the same question the night of the snowstorm.

Candice blows air through her nose with a smile of her own. “Guess not.” She goes back to removing her makeup. “Hurt her and we’ll kill you.”

Erin leans closer. “Sorry?”

“You heard me,” Candice says, but she’s smiling. She throws her makeup wipe in the garbage and claps Erin on the back as she passes behind her. “Welcome to the family, Erin.”

Erin watches her retreat down the hallway, chest humming, and then lifts her toothbrush again.

Holtz is already half asleep when Erin slides into bed beside her and kisses her on the head.

She snuggles closer and yawns. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“What’s tomorrow?” Erin asks warily.

“Family party, ’member? All my extended family? You get to meet more people.”

“Awesome.”

Holtz chuckles. “Remember, we can always come hide up here for a bit if it gets too overwhelming.”

“It hasn’t been that bad so far.”

“Yeeeaaah, but the rest of the family is…a lot.”

“And you guys _aren’t?”_

Holtz raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, not wanting to alarm Erin too much at once.

“Okay, okay,” Erin concedes. “I’ll let you know if I need a break. Promise.”

“We should have a code word.” Holtz taps her chin. “How about ‘mistletoe’?”

Erin rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Fine.”

“Use it as many times as you have to. I’ll getcha outta there.”

“You are really concerned about me, aren’t you?”

“Welllll.” Now Holtz rolls her eyes. “Concern. I hear that’s something you’re supposed to have for the people you date. S’almost like I care about you or something.”

“Or something, yeah,” Erin says. “Almost like you _love_ me, or something.”

Holtz clicks her tongue. “It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

Erin laughs softly. “Goodnight, Holtz.”

“Night, Er.”


	4. December 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in this chapter for suicide mention

**Monday, December 24th**

Erin wakes up to the baby crying somewhere in the house. The baby is crying, and there’s Christmas music playing from somewhere as well. She grabs Holtz’s wrist and rotates her watch to read the time. It’s only 5:30am.

“Guess you’re awake,” Holtz says.

“Sorry,” Erin says. “I was just checking what time it is.”

“It’s party day,” Holtz says. “Everyone gets up early on party day.”

“Will everyone be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, too?”

“Most definitely,” Holtz says. “We can probably go back to sleep for a bit now, though. When Mom needs us she’ll come a knockin’ anyway.”

“Is there a lot that needs to be done?”

“Ehh. Food prep. Decorating. Stuff like that.”

“Is the house not…already decorated?”

Holtz snorts. “Oh, Erin. Erin, Erin, Erin.”

“So I guess not, then.”

Holtz laughs quietly. “You’ll see.”

“That’s kind of ominous-sounding when you say it like that.”

“Good. You should be intimidated.”

Erin sighs happily and moves closer. “Can we just stay here all day?”

“We coouuuld. We might be disturbed, though. I don’t think some people would be too happy if I wasn’t present for the one day a year they get to see me.”

“Is this really the only chance you get to see certain relatives?”

“Sure is,” Holtz says. “Aunts and uncles, cousins…this is pretty much the only time of year I come home, so…”

“I guess that makes sense. Are you excited to see everyone?”

“Oh, definitely. Except creepy Uncle Patrick.”

“Oh right. Him.”

Holtz kisses her on the arm.

Downstairs is a zoo.

Charlie passes them in the hallway. “Christmas Eve,” he says formally with a small nod.

“Christmas Eve,” Holtz echoes with a businesslike nod of her own.

They nearly bump into Candice as she’s coming out of the kitchen.

“Christmas Eve,” she and Holtz say at the same time, with the same flat inflection, both nodding their heads.

Erin blinks. “What is—”

Mo appears out of nowhere and presses a smoothie into each of their hands. “Christmas Eve,” she says, and nods.

Holtz looks at Erin expectantly.

Erin clears her throat. “Um. Christmas Eve,” she says, nodding.

“Christmas Eve,” at least four people in the kitchen echo, including Holtz.

“Cult,” Erin says under her breath.

Holtz smirks around her smoothie straw.

Cliff asks Erin if she’s a good cook, and when she hesitates, he automatically assigns her to the Decorating Crew.

Erin doesn’t mind. Holtz is on the Decorating Crew as well.

Well, she doesn’t mind until they get to the living room and see the ten open Rubbermaid bins of decorations that need to be put up by 1:00pm.

Erin looks at Holtz with wide eyes. “ _How?_ ”

“Christmas Eve,” Holtz replies.

“Hey. Hey, Erin. Erin, ask me what I’m doing.”

Erin looks over her shoulder to see Holtz taping rainbow streamers to the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making the yuletide gay,” Holtz deadpans.

Erin snorts.

“I’d like to see you go one Christmas without making that joke,” Sandy says from the other side of the room.

“It’s a tradition!”

Holtz finishes with the streamers and traipses over to where Erin is muttering to herself and trying hopelessly to knot fishing line around a plastic silver snowflake.

“How’s it hanging?”

“It’s _not_ ,” Erin grumbles. “Stupid piece of s—”

“Chiiiildren present.”

“—tring.” Erin tries to use her teeth to pull the line tight but the snowflake falls to the floor instead.

Holtz bends to pick it up and twirls it in between her fingers. “Need some help?”

“I have a _PhD_ and yet this _stupid_ snowflake is _impossible_ to—”

Holtz has tied the string around the snowflake and is swinging it lazily like a pendulum.

Erin stares at her. “Do it again.”

“Toss me the spool.”

Soon, Holtz is on a stepladder, hanging snowflakes from the ceiling. Erin’s only instructions are to ‘pass her tape and look pretty,’ so that’s what she does.

After the fourth snowflake falls down, Holtz curses.

“Auntie Jay said a bad word!” one of the twins announces.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Holtz waves her hands at him. “Keep it down.”

“Can I say a bad word too?”

She leans down, motions for him to come closer. “ _One_ ,” she says.

“ _Fuck!”_ he says loudly.

All heads in the living room turn to them.

Sandy shakes her head. _I hate you_ , she signs to Holtz.

_I love you_ , Holtz signs back. She turns to Erin. “So, how many of these would you say that we _really_ need to hang?”

Erin counts overhead. “I think we need exactly…eight.”

“All right here in this one corner, right?”

“I think that’s exactly what Mo envisioned.”

Holtz nods and hops down off the stepladder. “Perfect. Glad we’re on the same page.”

The first guests arrive at exactly 1:00, a mere ten minutes after the last decorations go up. Erin and Holtz are upstairs when the doorbell rings, changing into matching Santa hats and red shirts that say _Coordinating Clauses_ on the front and _Christmas Eve 2018_ on the back.

“Your family really likes puns,” Erin comments.

Holtz winks. “Does that surprise you?”

Erin shakes her head and holds out her elbow. “Be my dependent Claus?”

Holtz grins and takes hold of it. “With pleasure.”

As they come down the stairs, they see the new arrivals in the foyer, kicking off their boots and shrugging off their coats to reveal matching red shirts that say _Relative Clauses. T_ he decibel level in the house is already going up a few notches as people greet them. Somebody guffaws loudly. Behind them, the front door opens and more people come in behind them.

“Remember,” Holtz says as they reach the final step, “the code word is ‘mistletoe.’ Don’t be afraid to pull it out.”

“I’m good,” Erin says. “Are you good?”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Holtz lifts one hand in a wave and steps forward into the crowd, pulling Erin with her. “Heyyy, Garrett! Oh my god, don’t tell me that this handsome dude is Wesley! Weren’t you just in diapers? What has your dad been feeding you? Growth hormones? And oh boy, who let _this_ clown in here…”

On and on it goes.

Erin is a little overwhelmed. Holtz was right. There’s just so many _people_ all crammed into one house. Packed into the kitchen, the living room, the foyer, the hallway, up the stairs.

She has a good memory for names, she really does, but she’s having a hard time keeping everybody straight when they’re all wearing the same shirt.

“Hey, Erin,” Holtz says, tugging Erin away from her conversation with one of Holtz’s cousins. “This is my Aunt Kelly and Uncle Patrick. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Erin.”

“No shit?” Uncle Patrick looks Erin up and down in a way that makes her skin crawl. “Little Jillian is finally off the market?” He tsks. “What a sad day for everyone.”

“Don’t call me that,” Holtz says.

Erin ignores him and reaches past him to shake Aunt Kelly’s hand. “You must be Mo’s sister. You look so similar.”

“One of them,” Kelly says in a bored voice.

“Great,” Erin says.

“And there’s the other!” Holtz steers them away from her least favourite relatives and onto— “If it isn’t my favourite lesbian aunts!”

One of the women steps forward to pull her into a hug. “If it isn’t our favourite lesbian niece.”

Holtz spins to face Erin and hooks one arm around each of their shoulders with a grin. “Guys. I finally did it. I finally brought a girl home. Isn’t she gorgeous? Didn’t I do good?”

The woman on her left, the one who hugged Holtz, is clearly Mo’s other sister. Her curly grey hair is cropped close to her head, smile lines set into her face. Her arm muscles are massive and well-defined, and Erin finds herself staring at them as she extends her hand.

“Erin Gilbert,” she says, a little too eagerly.

“Vic,” the woman says with a firm shake and a smile. “This is my wife, Jane, and—” She cranes her head, searching the room, then points— “that’s our daughter Samiya over there.”

Erin follows her gaze to a young woman, maybe mid-twenties, who’s wearing a white and gold patterned hijab and gesturing animatedly as she talks to Candice by the TV. She looks back to take in Jane, a stocky woman with her own grey hair hanging down her back in a thick braid, purple-frame glasses perching on her nose.

“It is _very_ nice to meet you,” Erin says, still shaking Vic’s hand. “What do you, um, do?”

Vic pulls her hand from Erin’s unyielding grasp with a hearty chuckle. “Me and Jane have a farm out in Dallas.”

“Oh. My goodness,” Erin breathes.

“Dallas, Pennsylvania,” Holtz clarifies. “Like 15 minutes from here.”

“A farmer, huh?” Erin gushes. “You must be…so strong…”

“Easy, tiger,” Holtz says with an amused smirk.

Erin clears her throat and straightens up, a blush spreading on her face. “I have to go…elsewhere,” she says hurriedly, then backs away.

“I like her,” Vic declares.

Holtz claps her on the back. “You and me both, buddy.”

The party is in full swing: the house loud and full. Holtz is in the middle of a spirited conversation with Grandma Holtzmann about herpes and Home Depot when she happens to glance across the living room and sees Erin standing in the archway. Holtz gives her a little wave and Erin responds by crooking her finger, beckoning Holtz to come over.

“Excuuuse me, Grandma,” Holtz says. “Be back in a jiff.”

She ambles over, cutting around family members and ducking under people’s plates in their hands, doing an army crawl on the ground at some point, and finally reaching Erin and popping upright.

“Hey, you,” she says. “What’s up?”

“Mistletoe,” Erin says softly.

Holtz blinks in surprise. “Oh! Okay! Say no more—let’s go hide for a bit.”

Erin catches her by the arm. “No. No—look up.”

Holtz looks up. Blinks. “Ah.”

“Mistletoe,” Erin says again.

Holtz looks back down at her. Erin is smiling.

“There are a lot of people around,” Holtz says. “Lotta people watching us.”

Erin nods.

Holtz steps forward, holds Erin by her waist.

It’s Erin who leans in and presses her lips to Holtz’s. Erin who cradles Holtz’s face with her hand.

One of Holtz’s hands slips around to the small of Erin’s back and pulls her closer so their bodies are touching. Erin smiles into the kiss.

Someone (probably Matthew) wolf-whistles. There’s some scattered applause. A very quiet _‘that’s gay.’_

Erin pulls back, face and chest flushed, and bites her lip.

“Mistletoe,” she breathes.

“Sure fuckin’ is,” Holtz says, nodding like a bobblehead.

“No, I—” Erin’s eyes flicker to the stairs, then back at Holtz, one corner of her mouth turned up expectantly.

Holtz’s eyes go very wide. “ _Oh._ Yes. Yep. Let’s go.”

Erin takes her by the hand and pulls her, past Candice who raises her glass with a smirk, and they run up the stairs.

Holtz shuts her bedroom door behind them and leans up against it. Erin stands in front of her, looking her up and down. She reaches to floof Holtz’s hair thoughtfully.

“Hi,” Holtz says.

“Hi,” Erin says back.

“You realize that everyone downstairs 100% thinks that we’re—”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

“I just wanted a minute or two alone with you,” Erin confesses. “I don’t care what they think.”

“Good. I’m proud of you. Once upon a time, Erin Gilbert would’ve been mortified if everyone thought she was so sex-crazed that couldn’t keep her hands off of her girlfriend for one party.”

Erin raises an eyebrow.

“I’m kidding,” Holtz says. “They know me. They don’t think that at all.”

“Do they? Know?”

“Well. Maybe not my extended family. But anyone important, yeah. We tell each other everything. We’re very close.”

Erin laughs. “You don’t say.”

There’s a hurried knock on the door behind Holtz.

“What did I tell you?” she says. “Who would bother us if they thought we were…occupied?”

She spins around and pulls open the door to reveal a flustered-looking Megan with the baby tucked in the crook of her elbow.

“Hey,” she says. “I’m so sorry to interrupt—”

“Not interrupting,” Holtz interrupts.

“—but I heard you come upstairs and I was hoping you could watch Willa for me for like, half an hour tops while I run to the store before it closes. We’re almost out of diapers and the store will be closed tomorrow and—”

“Sure, we can watch her,” Erin says.

Holtz gives her a doubtful look. “I feel like there’s gotta be better people. Like, you know, your husband?”

Megan waves her hand. “He’s having fun downstairs. I just thought—since you’re up here where it’s quiet anyway…”

“We’ll do it,” Erin says, reaching past Holtz to take the baby into her arms.

“Okay, but if we break her—”

“We’re not going to break her.”

“ _If_ we break her, we cannot be held liable.”

Megan is already backing away, rolling her eyes as she goes. “You’ll be fine. Everything is in our room if you need it. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Then she’s gone, and it’s just the two of them and the baby, who’s asleep.

“Why are you freaking out?” Erin asks, going to sit on the edge of the bed, cradling Willa carefully.

Holtz paces. “I’m not. I’m just not…the _greatest_ with kids.”

Erin lifts her eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been great with your nieces and nephews!”

Holtz grimaces. “ _Sometimes_. I’m also awful with them sometimes. I have had aunt-privileges revoked before.”

“For what?”

Holtz stops pacing. “I may have been tasked with babysitting the twins when they were like that.” She juts her chin at Willa.

“Babies?”

“Yeah. And I maaaayyyyy have swapped their outfits to see if Sandy and Danny could tell them apart.”

“…Could they?”

Holtz fights back a smile. “Do you think I would’ve been banished from visiting for a year if they could?”

“A _year?_ ”

“Well. It was officially a year. I came back anyway though. They just didn’t leave me alone with them again for…shit, I don’t know if they’ve _ever_ left me alone with them again since then…”

Erin shakes her head. “You just like causing trouble.”

Holtz winks.

Erin pats the bed beside her and Holtz comes to sit next to her with a grumble, putting several inches between them.

“Sandy seems like a good mom,” Erin comments.

Holtz hums. “Yeah. She is. She loves it, too. Most modern stay-at-home-moms seem like they’re in it for the blog, but she genuinely loves it. Not that there’s anything wrong with blogging moms, but…y’know. She really, _really_ loves it. They homeschool, too. Always have. They’ve raised a hoard of thoughtful, intelligent, compassionate boys, and I really respect that.” She clicks her tongue thoughtfully. “Also, right after they found out that Milton was deaf, the whole family started learning ASL. Didn’t even bat an eye. I know some parents who would look for praise for doing that—like they were doing something extraordinary that deserved recognition—but they never have. They actively try to normalize it.”

“I did notice that they sign even when he’s not in the room,” Erin says, shifting the baby’s position slightly on her lap.

Holtz nods. “Yeah. I also remember one time, back when he was really young, some people at their church said that they’d been praying for him—like, praying that he’d become hearing—and Sandy _lost it_. I’ve never seen her that angry in my life. They actually switched churches because of it. They tried to educate the people—giving them the benefit of the doubt that it was from a place of ignorance and good intentions—but there was this whole backlash and things got heated because yeah, no, they knew damn well what they were doing.”

Erin makes a face.

Holtz rolls her eyes. “Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”

They sit there silently for a minute.

“Has Sandy always been religious?” Erin asks, unable to keep the question in any longer.

Holtz dips her head. “No.”

With that tiny motion, Erin gets the sense that it’s a sensitive topic. She’s not going to pry any further.

“When we were 15, um…” Holtz clears her throat. “Her best friend died.”

Erin blinks. “Oh.”

“Drowned herself in the river.”

“ _Oh.”_ Erin swallows. “Oh my god. That’s horrible.”

“Yep,” Holtz says, voice cracking slightly. “She wasn’t _really_ my friend, but…she was. We all had our own friends—well, Sandy and Candice did, I didn’t—but we still…we all hung out. Sometimes. More when we were kids. We had all known Casey since we were in diapers. She grew up three doors down from us.” She fiddles with her hands. “Her parents moved…after. Left town.”

“I’m so sorry, Holtz.”

“It was a long time ago,” Holtz says. “Not the kind of thing you ever really forget, though. Sandy was…really messed up from it.” She licks her lips and exhales. “That’s when she found religion. It gave her some solace. A way to make sense of everything. A community to support her. I’m—I’m glad she had it. I’m glad she still does. But I still regret not reaching out. Not being the one to help her through. But I was just trying to get through it myself.”

“Of course you were,” Erin says softly, reaching her free hand to rest on Holtz’s leg.

Holtz chews on her lip.

“Back then we were…close, I guess, but we didn’t talk. You know how multiples are supposed to be super in tune with each other? We were. Sorta. I’ve always been able to feel everything they’re feeling. Feel their pain like it’s my own. But we didn’t talk. We were really close when we were little, but then as we got older, Sandy and Candice spent more time with their own friend groups. Neither of them were ever popular, per se, but they had friends and I didn’t and they felt like I was always tagging along when nobody wanted me there. Pretty typical sibling stuff. Except they treated me like I was their loser kid sister when I was actually their age. They were always a little more…mature than I was.”

The corner of Holtz’s mouth ticks up as she says it. “Obviously that’s all in the past. We are _so clearly_ all at the same level of maturity now.”

Erin laughs lightly. “Clearly.”

Holtz smiles. “Really, though. We grew up and stopped being hormonal teenagers and now we’re closer than ever and we actually talk to each other. About everything. Candice called me last month to tell me about her UTI. We’re close.”

Erin snorts. “That’s, um…”

“TMI on the UTI?”

“Little bit.”

Holtz bumps her shoulder against Erin’s and stares down at Willa, who’s starting to wake up a little.

“I’m really sorry about your friend,” Erin says gently, also looking down at the baby.

Holtz swallows. “She wasn’t my friend. She was Sandy’s friend. She wasn’t mine to love. Or to grieve.”

Erin looks at her with a quick inhale. “That’s not true.”

Holtz shrugs one shoulder.

There’s a muffled burst of laughter from downstairs.

“Did you…have feelings for her?” Erin asks carefully, not missing the ‘mine to love’ comment.

Holtz hesitates for a second. “It doesn’t matter. Yes. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Erin says. “You had every right to grieve. You still do.” She pauses. “Did anything ever—”

“No,” Holtz says firmly. “And nothing ever would’ve. She was Sandy’s best friend. I never could’ve done that to her.”

“Okay,” Erin says. “Either way, I’m really sorry.”

Holtz sighs. “Thanks.”

Willa yawns, mouth rounding into a tiny little O.

“Your family makes me wish I had siblings,” Erin says.

“Don’t,” Holtz says immediately with a smile. “They’ll ruin your life.”

“Your sisters love you a lot.”

“They’d kill a man for me if I asked them to. No questions asked.”

“They should probably ask questions.”

“Probably.” Holtz’s face is straight but she has mirth in her eyes.

“You love them a lot too.”

“So damn much. Candice is the coolest person I’ve ever met in my life, and Sandy is the kindest. I’d do anything for them, and they’d do anything for me. Like, when I had surgery, Sandy had her whole church pray for me—I don’t exactly subscribe to organized religion, but damn it if it wasn’t one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me and something that brought me a lot of comfort at the time. Candice, on the other hand, sent me a stack of books and a bottle of booze. I cried at both gestures.”

“When…was this?”

“Like uhhhhhh, a year ago? Last February?”

“Wait, like, when I _knew_ you?”

“…Yes?”

“Where was I?”

“I…don’t know?”

“Surgery for _what?”_

Holtz cups her left boob. “A little de-lumping.”

Erin looks at her sharply. “ _What?”_

“A breast de-lumping,” Holtz enunciates. “The ‘breast’ de-lumping I’ve ever had in my life, actually. Top notch.”

“Holtz.”

“Yes?”

“Are you…serious?”

“Rarely,” Holtz concedes.

“But did—”

“Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Did…did Abby know? Or Patty?”

“Patty drove me.”

Erin blinks.

“And Abby knew,” Holtz admits.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you make a big deal out of things and it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It sounds like a big deal.”

“It wasn’t. Not even the most serious surgery I’ve had this year.”

“ _Holtz.”_

“What?”

“Can you just—”

Willa is squirming and starting to fuss.

Erin stands up with her and starts walking back and forth, rocking her. She quiets back down.

“Are you mad?” Holtz asks.

“No,” Erin says immediately. “A little sad, maybe. That you didn’t tell me. But I’ll get over it. You’re sure it wasn’t a big deal?”

“Super duper sure,” Holtz says. “Sorry for not telling you. In my defense, I also didn’t want to upset you and have you worry about me for nothing. I was trying to protect you.”

“Well…thanks? I guess?”

“Won’t happen again,” Holtz promises. “The not-telling-you part, not the surgery part. I can’t control that part.”

Erin shakes her head and steps closer. “Here, take your niece.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Holtz groans but stands and takes the baby from Erin with a grimace.

“I take it you don’t want kids?” Erin jokes.

Holtz makes a face. “No thank you. I mean, I love kids, but hell nope. Not doing that.”

Erin laughs. “Good to know. I’m with you.”

Holtz holds up her free hand. “High five for not wanting kids.”

Erin enthusiastically smacks her hand.

“Are you ready to go back downstairs?” Holtz asks. “We _could_ stay up here the rest of the night if you want, but…”

“What about the baby?”

“Well, obviously she’s welcome to join us.”

Erin lightly pushes her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Megan said to watch her up here.”

“That was when she was asleep. She’s awake now.”

“But—”

“I’ll take full responsibility for the decision if Megan yells at us.”

Erin pauses. “Okay.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs with Willa and re-join the living room.

“Wow, I thought you had to wait nine months afterwards,” one of the cousins says wryly.

“Eat my shorts, Heidi,” Holtz replies.

Megan slips in through the front door as they’re all laughing.

She sets her bags on the floor and shakes snow from her hair. “What did I miss?”

“You don’t want to know,” Erin says.

Megan nods. “Fair enough.”

As the evening winds down, it’s time for the annual Family Photo. Everyone in the house gathers in the living room, a sea of red t-shirts, and Cliff stands up on a ladder and positions a mini tripod near the ceiling so the camera is pointed down at the room.

Holtz and Erin end up squished in the middle: Holtz’s Grandma Minnie and Grandpa Dick are to their left; her Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Dale are to their right; her pregnant cousin Jenny and her husband Spencer are behind them; and her only cousin on the Holtzmann side, Diane, and her teenage daughter Lauren are in front of them.

“Ready?” Cliff shouts over the hubbub, then swiftly climbs down the ladder and joins them as the camera timer blinks.

“Everyone say ‘idiosyncrasies!’” Mo calls.

“ _Idiosyncrasies,_ ” everyone shouts together as the flash goes off once, twice, three times.

Cliff climbs back up the ladder and peers at the screen. “They look good!”

Everyone cheers and breaks apart.

By the time the last of the guests are leaving, Erin is flat-out exhausted. She’s barely standing as she watches Holtz say goodbye first to her cousin Isaac and his wife and two kids, and then to her Uncle Allen and his wife Gloria, the last stragglers.

Once the door has shut behind them and Holtz has come back to her, Erin sags against her.

“Is it time for bed?”

“Not quite yet,” Holtz says. “There’s _one_ more tradition first…”

Mo stands at the head of the living room like she did during the Picking of the Christmas Movie. The rest of them are curled up in various spots throughout the room. The kids have set out orange juice and cookies for Santa and are clearly too keyed up to be tired.

“Well,” Mo says after everyone has settled—or settled enough, “the person who will be reading _’Twas the Night Before Christmas_ this year, by random draw—”

“Don’t you dare,” Holtz says.

Mo grins. “—is our very own Jay.”

“I want a recount,” Holtz protests.

“You’re not getting out of it this year, Bean,” Cliff says.

“She’s come up with an excuse the last four years,” Candice explains to Erin.

“Why can’t you do it? You do this for a living,” Holtz grumbles at her as she picks herself up off the floor and snatches the book from Mo. She settles back on the floor with Erin, figuring if she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it cuddling her girlfriend.

She settles in, Erin’s arm around her waist. Sandy perches on the couch behind her to interpret.

When everyone is ready, she cracks the book open and clears her throat. “ _'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a ghost._ ”

The kids giggle.

“It’s ‘mouse,’” Alton says.

“Not in my story, it’s not,” Holtz says. “ _The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there._ ” She licks her thumb and turns the page. “ _The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of cyclotrons spun in their heads._ ”

“That’s not the story,” Chloe protests.

“This isn’t a spectator sport,” Holtz says. “ _And Erin in her jumpsuit, and I in my glasses, had just settled down for some extra-credit classes._ ” She waggles her eyebrows.

Erin hides her smile behind her hand.

“ _When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a phantom, tore open the curtains and threw up the sash._ ”

“That doesn’t rhyme.”

“Nobody said this had to rhyme. I don’t even know what a sash is.” Holtz flips the page again. “ _The moon on the breast_ —” She snickers— “ _of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a ginormous sleigh, and six big old reindeer._ ”

“There’s eight reindeer,” several children say simultaneously.

“Not in this economy, there’s not. Santa had to cut back and do some _sleigh_ -offs this year.”

Erin snorts loudly. She’s the only one who laughs, but several of the other adults in the room are covering their mouths, smiles just visible.

“I’m just kidding,” Holtz deadpans. “Cupid got banished back to Valentine’s Day where she belongs, and Dancer got cast in the Nutcracker.”

Erin squeezes her arm. “Maybe just keep going?”

“Roger that,” Holtz says. “ _With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than spectres his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name. ‘Now, Dasher—not Dancer—now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! Not Cupid. On, Donner and Schnitzel!_ ’”

“Blitzen!” the kids wail.

Holtz ignores them and continues. “ _‘To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!_ ’” She turns the page and smooths it down. “ _As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky—_ What is that even supposed to mean? Does that sound like gibberish to anyone else?”

When she doesn’t get an answer, she shakes her head. “Okay, fine _. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound._ ” She looks up. “Home invasion is no joke, kids.”

Erin elbows her.

Holtz grins and winks. “ _He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all coated with ectoplasm and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack_.” She looks around the room. “Do these kinds understand a third of the descriptions in this poem? Because I sure don’t.”

Across from them, Cliff has his arm around Mo and they’re both looking at Holtz fondly. Erin turns her head to press a kiss to Holtz’s shoulder and urge her to keep going.

“ _His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!”_ Holtz twists her index finger in her own dimple to illustrate. “ _His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.”_ She strokes her chin contemplatively. “ _The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath_ —hey, don’t smoke, kids. Just because Santa does it doesn’t mean that it’s cool.”

Erin nods in agreement.

“ _He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl of grape Jello. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread._ ” Holtz yawns. “How long is this thing? Can I skip ahead?”

“Absolutely not,” Alicia says from the corner.

“Fiiiiine. _He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose_ —okay, listen, I _know_ Santa is magic, but I know physics, and are you telling me that—”

“Holtz, Holtz,” Erin says.

“But gravity, Erin,” Holtz whines.

“I know, Holtz. Just keep going.”

Holtz sticks out her tongue. “ _He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle_ —what on _Earth_ does that mean?”

“You’re so close—”

“The down of a thistle? What does it mean to fly like the down of a thistle? What _is_ that?”

“—two more lines, Holtz, you can do it—”

“The down of a thistle,” Holtz mutters to herself. “ _But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight_ —” She pauses for dramatic effect and everyone visibly tenses, waiting to see if she butchers the last line— “ _Happy Christmas to all, and to all good night!_ ”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and then people start clapping. Erin kisses her cheek.

“Good job,” she says.

Holtz bows.

Everyone retreats after that. Sandy, Danny, and the boys head for home with the promise to return for 5:00am. The rest of the kids are taken upstairs to bed. Everyone else splits to their own areas of the house as well.

Erin and Holtz brush their teeth and change into their pajamas, then curl up in bed together.

Despite being so exhausted earlier from the party, Erin now feels wide-awake.

“That was a good Christmas Eve,” she says. “It was nice meeting the rest of your family.”

Holtz smiles. “You did good, Gilbert.”

“Did I?”

Holtz buries her face in the crook of Erin’s neck and nods.

They lie there silently for a few minutes.

“I was talking to Nana and Papa earlier—Mom-Mom’s parents—and they told me that she’s in Norway right now.”

Erin pauses. “That’s not ‘somewhere in Asia.’”

“Nope.”

“Will she call tomorrow?”

“Not likely,” Holtz says. “She doesn’t really call. Postcards, sure.”

She sounds disappointed. Erin swallows.

“Hey, what’s your favourite Christmas movie?”

“ _It’s a Wonderful Life_ ,” Holtz says immediately.

Erin is surprised, but doesn’t let it show. She pulls away from Holtz and slides from the bed.

Holtz stretches her hand after her. “Nooo, come back.”

“Hold on,” Erin says. She crouches in front of her suitcase and digs until she finds her laptop, then returns to bed with it and her headphones.

Holtz sits up with interest as Erin passes her the laptop.

“You’re better at finding movies illegally,” she says.

Holtz snorts. “You mean I don’t give your laptop viruses?”

Erin smiles. “Exactly.”

It doesn’t take Holtz long to find a site to stream the movie. It’s grainy, low-def, and keeps buffering—but as she cuddles up against Erin under the covers, heads touching as they share Erin’s earbuds, she finds herself not minding one bit.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” Holtz says, but the waver in her voice betrays her.

Erin reaches to softly thumb away the moisture on her cheeks but doesn’t say anything, just takes her hand and squeezes.

“It’s just—he has such a wonderful life and he was about to throw it all away and end it,” Holtz cries.

“Yeah, but he didn’t,” Erin says gently. “He realized how many good things he had in his life, things worth living for.”

“But he almost _did._ He almost threw it all away and he never would’ve seen things get better all because he couldn’t see how much people cared about him, and…”

“It’s a happy movie, Holtz. It’s all okay in the end,” Erin says soothingly.

“I know, I know, I just…”

“I know.”

“It just makes me think…”

“I know.” Erin smooths her hair down. “It’s okay.”

Holtz stares at her with watery eyes for a few seconds, then abruptly throws the covers back.

“What—where are you going?”

“Follow me,” Holtz says.

Erin shuts her laptop and leaves it on the bed.

They creep down the stairs silently, past the living room.

“No peeking,” Holtz whispers.

Erin follows her lead and shoves her boots on her feet in the foyer, taking her winter coat from Holtz after she gets it out of the closet for her. She has barely zipped it up when Holtz quietly unlocks and opens the front door.

Erin slips outside after her, shutting the door softly behind her with a faint click. Holtz has already bounded down the steps of the porch and is skipping towards the middle of the front lawn.

There’s not tons of snow on the ground—only a couple inches—but it’s still snowing lightly. Holtz spins around, hands raised to the sky. Erin smiles just watching her.

Holtz turns to face her, multi-coloured light reflecting off her glasses from the strings of Christmas lights along the house. “Let’s build a snowman.”

“Okay,” Erin says happily.

They scoop and roll snow together, packing it in tight, stacking one ball on top of the other. Holtz runs down to the end of the driveway and returns with a few small rocks, which she presses into the packed snow with her thumb.

When they’re done, a tiny snowman about a foot-and-a-half tall sits in the middle of the lawn, bare grass surrounding it.

Holtz comes up beside Erin, laces their frozen fingers together, leans her head on her shoulder, and they gaze down at the snowman.

“I told Casey once that dark days were like snow.” Holtz murmurs. “Snow falls and blankets everything, covers everything up, and you forget what the world looks like underneath it all. It’s cold and heavy and it feels like it’s never going to go away.”

Their breath hangs in the cold air in front of them.

“But then you wake up one day and it’s all melted away, and everything underneath it is green and bright and warm and alive and _beautiful_. And you realize it was all temporary.”

Erin squeezes her hand.

Holtz drops into a crouch and repositions one of the stones on the snowman’s head so its smile is just a bit bigger, a little more pronounced. Her fingers linger there.

“I make a snowman for her every year,” she says quietly.

She looks up behind her to see Erin hovering over her, snow clinging to her hair, nose pink, eyes shining.

She stands up and lets Erin pull her into a tight hug.

“I love you,” Erin says against her shoulder, voice muffled by Holtz’s coat.

“I love you, too,” Holtz whispers.

They stand there, just holding each other in the snow.

There’s a faint beep, and Holtz pulls back to look at her watch, then she looks up at Erin with a smile.

“Hey. It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, Erin.”

Erin brushes snow off Holtz’s shoulders and then touches her face with cold, gentle fingers. “Merry Christmas, Holtz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has...a lot going on. Hope you liked it???? Also I'm alarmed that Christmas Eve is only like a week away. HOW?


	5. December 25th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! Hope you guys had a wonderful holiday season :) I went home for Christmas and didn't have any time to write aside for a couple hours whilst on one of the seven flights I had in the very-busy two weeks I was home for! I'm back now and finally shaking off the jetlag and post-holiday lethargy and I'm ready to write the rest of this fic!
> 
> Side note: I've now written/posted fics in 4 different years: 2016, 2017, 2018, and 2019. Wild! Happy New Year! :)

**Tuesday, December 25th**

Erin wakes up to Holtz kissing the side of her head repeatedly.

“Wake uppppp,” she sings. “It’s Chriiiiistmas.”

Erin blinks blearily. “Five more minutes?”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

Erin rolls over. “What time is it?”

“4:45.”

“Oh my god.”

“Sandy and co. will be here in 15 minutes and we need to be ready by then.”

“Your family is insane. This is too early.”

“It’s _Christmas_.”

“Fine, fiiiine.”

Erin rolls out of bed and stumbles to where her robe is hanging, wrapping it around herself with a yawn. She ambles over to the window and pushes the curtains aside to look out at the dark street below, faintly illuminated by a nearby streetlight and the Christmas lights on he house.

It has clearly warmed up overnight; most of the snow left on the ground has melted since they were out there a mere few hours ago. In the middle of the lawn, their snowman is just a small, unidentifiable mound. It’ll likely be gone before the day is over.

Erin stares at it for a few more seconds, then closes the curtains again and turns to Holtz.

“Alright,” she says sleepily. “I’m ready to see how the Holtzmann-Danielses do Christmas morning.”

There’s an evil glint in Holtz’s eyes as she holds out her hand.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

Christmas morning is, in a word, madness.

Erin’s childhood Christmases were always somber, calm affairs. The few years that she exchanged presents with her parents, they would sit and quietly take turns carefully unwrapping a gift, setting aside the paper in a neat pile, and thanking whoever gave it to them, and then it would be the next person’s turn.

_This_ is crazy, disorganized, loud _chaos._ They had walked into the living room to be greeted by hundreds of wrapped presents under the tree, stockings bursting at the seams, and immediately everyone descended like vultures. Everyone is tearing apart their presents, wrapping paper flying everywhere, everyone shouting over each other and clambering to get to the tree and throwing stuff through the air and it’s _mayhem_.

Erin can only sit in stunned silence in the corner and watch it all unfold, a little—or a lot—overwhelmed by the whole thing.

Holtz comes and weasels onto her lap and kisses her forehead.

“We can exchange ours alone later,” she says in her ear.

Erin nods. “Thank you.”

“Jay!” someone shouts, and suddenly a small green package is hurtling across the living room towards them.

Holtz snags it out of the air before it can hit Erin’s face.

“Thank you!” she calls back, flipping the box over to see who it’s from. She doesn’t open it, just drums her fingers on the edge of it and watches Alton and Ashton tug-of-waring over a gift that they each think is for them.

Erin nudges her. “Go. Join your family. I know you want to.”

Holtz looks at her. “You sure? Will you be okay over here?”

Erin laughs. “Yes.”

Holtz grins and kisses her forehead again, then slides from her lap and joins the mix again.

Erin settles back with her coffee mug and watches her, watches the way she fits together with her family, watches her move through the chaos, watches how happy she, watches.

Watches, and smiles.

“How you holding up?”

Cliff settles onto the couch beside Erin expectantly.

She blinks. “Oh! Um, fine. It’s a lot, but it’s good.”

He smiles and passes her a rectangular present wrapped with simple brown paper. “That’s for you.”

Erin bites her lip as she takes it. “From who?”

“From me.”

She smiles. “Oh. Thank you.” She peels back the tape and carefully unwraps the gift—two paperback books.

Cliff leans over to tap the cover of the top one. “These are my recommendations based on the ones you got from the store the other day. If you don’t like the sound of ’em or have already read them, I’ll take you back ’round the shop and you can exchange them for whatever you want.”

Erin is already reading the summary on the back. “This sounds amazing, wow, I—” She looks up— “Thank you. Really. That was so thoughtful of you. I love them.”

He gives her a lopsided grin. “You’re family now. Keep making my daughter happy and you can have all the books you want.”

“I think you’re officially my favourite. Don’t tell the others,” Erin jokes.

Cliff mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key, winking as he does so. “Our little secret.”

Holtz catches her eye from over by the tree and waves, mouthing something that Erin can’t make out, then giving her a thumbs up. Erin smiles.

“You did good,” Erin says.

“Well, I _do_ do this for a living,” Cliff says.

Erin looks down at the books, then back at him. “Oh, no, I meant with Hol—Jay. You did good. She’s an amazing person.”

Cliff gazes across the room contemplatively. “She sure is, isn’t she? She’s something.”

“The best kind of something,” Erin agrees.

Cliff smiles and knocks shoulders. “You’re alright, Erin, you know that?”

Erin smiles.

Once all the present-unwrapping mayhem has subsided and all the kids are playing happily with their new toys on the living room floor, Holtz rejoins Erin.

“Sorry for abandoning you,” she says.

“No, it’s okay,” Erin says. “Really.”

“So whaddya think?”

“Of your Christmas? It was very…intense. I don’t know why I’m surprised by that.”

“What can I say? We’re all full of Christmas spirit!”

“You’re possessed by the ghost of Kris Kringle?” Erin quips without missing a beat.

Holtz snorts so loudly that several people turn to look at her. “Oh my god,” she wheezes. “Phenomenal. You’re incredible, Erin Gilbert.”

“Thank you, I try.”

Holtz nudges her. “Want to go exchange our gifts upstairs?”

Erin bites her lip and nods. “Yes please.”

They snag their gifts for each other from under the tree and sneak upstairs mostly unnoticed. Once in Holtz’s room, they sit facing one another cross-legged on her bed.

“Mine first,” Holtz says, shoving a sloppily-wrapped thin package at her.

Erin loosens the tape along the bacon-printed wrapping paper, careful not to tear it.

“Oh my god, you’re so slow,” Holtz whines. “Just rip it to shreds. Unleash your inner primate.”

“I’m just being gentle. It looks fragile.”

“It’s not fragiiiile.” Holtz pauses. “Okay, it’s a little fragile.”

Erin folds and sets aside the wrapping paper and lifts the layer of tissue paper underneath it.

Holtz sits forward on her heels eagerly.

Erin touches the present with a little gasp. “Oh my gosh, Holtz. Did you make this?”

“Of _course_ I made it,” Holtz says. “It’s the Ecto!”

“No, I know, it’s perfect.” Erin runs her finger along the smooth metal cutout silhouette of their car. “It’s beautiful. The details are just…”

Holtz shrugs. “I know you like art-y stuff. Thought you could put it on your wall.”

“Absolutely. I love it so much—thank you, Holtz.”

Holtz grins a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you like it. Oh! One more.” She pulls another wrapped present from out of nowhere and holds it out in the palm of her hand.

Erin takes it and peels back the layers of tape until she gets it open to reveal—

“A key?” She scrunches up her forehead. “For what?”

“The firehouse,” Holtz says cheerfully.

“I…already have a key to the firehouse.”

Holtz nods. “I know.”

“So…what…um…”

Holtz snatches the key from her hand and holds it up. “Right about now, I’d be giving you a key to my apartment like the proper U-Haul lesbian I am. But—” She reaches out to balance the key on top of Erin’s head— “we already live in the same building. _So_. Consider this a symbolic gesture.”

“Couldn’t you have just said all that without having me unwrap a key that I already have?”

“That _is_ your key, actually. I nabbed it out of your purse when you weren’t looking.”

“ _Holtz_.”

“Okay! My turn! Gimme my present!”

Erin colours. “Oh. Um. I don’t know about this, if it’s…what you want, or if it’s okay…it’s obviously not as good as what you made me, and, I don’t know, if you don’t like it I could…um, I don’t know…but—”

Holtz has already grabbed the modestly-wrapped gift from Erin’s lap and has torn it open.

Her eyes go wide. “Holy sh—”

“I, um…I got the idea from _The Office_ , because I know you like that show a lot, and—I mean, obviously I didn’t make it myself, I’m not artistic, but—”

“Is this a _comic book_ about me?”

Erin blushes more. “Yes.”

“This is a _comic book_ about me fighting ghosts.”

“Yes?” Erin squeaks.

“This is _incredible.”_

“Oh, I…I’m glad you think so? I, um, I wrote the whole story and I commissioned this comic book artist online to draw it, and…do you really like it?”

“I _love_ it, Erin, holy shit! This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. You are _amazing_.”

Erin blushes happily.

The entirety of Christmas morning is wrapped up by 6:00am, much to Erin’s horror. After the two of them finish exchanging presents, most people in the house seem like they’ve gone back to bed, so that’s what they do as well.

They don’t sleep, not really, but they cuddle and doze and talk, and by the time the sun is up, they’re considerably more awake. Well, Erin is considerably more awake. Holtz has been awake for hours.

“What happens for the rest of the day?” Erin asks.

“Not a whole lot…mostly just being lazy and playing with our presents until the Great Feast at 3:00.”

“The Great Feast?”

“You’ll see. Careful: ration your food intake for breakfast so you’re ready for it.”

“What…are we eating?”

Holtz grins. “No clue. Could be anything. You name it.”

“So not turkey, then? Or ham?”

Holtz shrugs exaggeratedly. “Could be.”

“I’m a little concerned.”

“That’s fair.”

Erin has no clue where all this food came from.

It’s like it just _appeared_.

There’s food _everywhere_. Even more than their breakfast buffet on their first morning here. It covers every surface in the kitchen, the dining room. Folding tables line the hallway, each piled with plates.

There is, in a word, _everything_.

Turkey and ham and quiche and burgers and tacos and hot dogs and ribs and steak and fish and soup and five kinds of potatoes and chili and butter chicken and dumplings and wings and pad thai and latkes and fried rice and ten salads and sushi and meatloaf and spaghetti and three pizzas and green curry and eggplant parmesan and pulled pork and roasted vegetables and grilled cheese sandwiches and and _and…_

More food than Erin can possibly take in at once. Appetizers. Entrees. Sides. Vegetarian options. Vegan. Kosher. Halal. Dairy-free. Gluten-free. You name it. There’s something for everyone.

Holtz nudges her arm, plate already piled high. “Like magic, isn’t it?”

“This is so much food, Holtz.”

“I know right? When we’re done eating, we pack up the rest and take it around to local families, people staying at the shelter, stuff like that, so everyone has warm meals to eat tonight and over the rest of the holiday season. We’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember. That’s why we make so much food.”

“That’s…pretty cool, actually.”

Holtz passes her a plate. “Get eatin’, Gilbert.”

Holtz passes a full bag stacked high with Tupperware through the door to the woman inside the apartment, who then pulls her in for a hug.

“Bless you,” she says in Holtz’s ear. “Bless you.”

“I got all your favourites in there, Martha,” Holtz says. “And extra falafel for Petey. And there might be a little present for him to unwrap in there too.”

Martha rests her hand on her son’s head with a watery smile. “Thank you, Jay.”

Holtz salutes as she backs away from the door and joins Erin waiting with the rest of their bags filled with food, toys, and books. Across town, various Holtzmanns and Danielses are doing the same.

When they’re done doling out their share, they head to Town Hall to reconvene with everyone else and prepare for the annual Caroling Competition.

“Holtz, I can’t sing,” Erin says anxiously.

“Perfect,” Holtz says. “I want you on my team, then.”

Erin cocks her head in confusion.

They divide into teams of five. Their team is composed of them, Matthew, Alicia, and Chloe. They’re given a festive red bucket Sharpied with the words _please make it stop_. They’re sent out with Charlie, Megan (carrying Willa on her chest), Elaine, Candice, and Alex, who have a bucket that says _go away_.

Erin still doesn’t understand until they’ve reached the first house and each team launches into a horrible, loud, off-key, wailing _mess_ of a carol. They’re all singing at the same time, overlapping with each other in an awful Christmas cacophony.

“What are we singing?” Erin shouts in Holtz’s ear.

“Whatever you want!” Holtz replies with glee.

Erin, after a moment of thought, picks up a steady _Jingle Bells._ Holtz is working on some sort of mash-up, part of which seems to be in German.

The laughing family who answers the door finally dumps a handful of cash into the other team’s bucket, which causes them to break from their songs to cheer.

“Thank you!” Candice calls.

As they walk towards the next house, Erin leans in to Holtz, who’s pouting.

“So, we’re _trying_ to sound the worst?”

Holtz taps her nose. “Now you’re gettin’ it!”

“And whoever sounds the worst gets the money?”

“Yep, and at the end of the night, each bucket gets donated to a different shelter or food bank in the area, so you better break out your most tune-less pipes.”

Erin lifts an eyebrow. “Well, you should’ve _said_ that. I can sound a lot worse than this.”

“Bring it _on.”_

When they count the money back at the house that night, their team comes out on top by a whole $132 more than the next runners up. Holtz punches the air victoriously. Erin adds a $100 donation of her own, split between the four buckets, and several other people do the same. They end up with thousands in total.

Exhausted by their early morning, lingering food comas, miles walked around town, and strenuous singing, it’s not long before people retire for the night.

Mo pats Erin’s shoulder as she and Holtz make for the stairs. “Time to rest up. Tomorrow’s Battle Day.”

Erin blinks for a second before remembering the very reason why she was brought here to begin with. She glances at Holtz, who’s grinning with anticipation.

“Oh, we’ll be ready,” Holtz says, cracking her knuckles. “It’s the Battle Royale, after all.”

Mo dips her head with a smile. “Goodnight, Jay, Erin. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” they echo together as they skip up the stairs happily.


	6. Battle Day: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've put this fic a little on hold in the past few weeks in favour of other fics but I realized there was nothing stopping me from posting this chapter in parts because I already had so much of it written! Enjoy :) I'll get back to writing this one soon, I just have some other things I wanna get out first!
> 
> Also, I changed my Tumblr url to reference this chapter, and I've been dying to post this so it's finally explained ;)

**Wednesday, December 26th**

“Erin Erin Erin Erin _Erin_ wake up wake up it’s _Battle Day!”_

Erin struggles her eyelids open. Holtz is literally bouncing. She’s already dressed. Erin squints at her shirt.

“What’s _Jerin?_ ”

“That’s our couple name,” Holtz says.

“Since when?”

“Since Mom texted me last week asking what to put on our shirts.”

“And you went with _Jerin?!”_

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Um…” Erin thinks for a moment. “Holtz…in. Holtzin. It’s like a verb. ‘Oh, what are you doing?’ ‘Nothing, just holtzin’ around town.’”

“Erin,” Holtz says solemnly. “I love you. But that is a terrible couple name and you know it.”

“It’s better than Jerin!”

“I panicked, okay?”

Erin sighs. “Fiiiine. I guess it’ll do. Team Jerin. Where’s my shirt?”

Holtz grins and tosses her the balled up blue fabric. “Better hurry. It’s time to get holtzin’.”

“Okay, so what am I actually in for today?” Erin pulls her hair back into a ponytail. “Like, what am I going to have to do?”

“Oh, you’re not gonna have to do anything,” Holtz says, standing beside her in front of the bathroom mirror and applying her eyeliner. “You’re not the one competing. This is all me.”

“Okay, what do _you_ have to do?”

“The Battle is divided into three rounds that’ll take place over the course of the day.” Holtz holds up one finger. “First up: the Beloved Game. Think the Newlywed Game but more one-sided. Basically, the six of us get asked questions and we have to answer them and see if we said the same thing as our Beloveds. You don’t have to worry about knowing anything about me—it’s all on me to get the questions right.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Well, we…we’ve only been dating for like a month.”

Holtz pauses in her eyeliner application and gives her a look. “Erin. If you think that I haven’t been studying you every minute of the two years that I’ve known you, memorizing everything that there is to know about you so I’d be ready for this moment, then you are _very_ mistaken.”

Erin blinks. “You…what?”

“Ask me anything.” Holtz turns back to the mirror, leaning in close and picking up on her eyeliner line. “I know it all.”

“What’s, um…my favourite colour?”

“That blue-grey that you painted your bedroom with. Easy. Give me a challenge.”

“Um. What do I usually eat for breakfast?”

“English muffin toasted in the toaster oven, not the toaster, light layer of margarine—never butter—and crabapple jelly. Handful of blueberries on the side—fresh if in season, frozen if not. Green tea. You have a box of that expensive brand with the tree on the front, the one that you got for Christmas last year, but you took out all the tea bags and hid them at the back of the cupboard and filled the box with bags of Lipton green tea instead because you’re trying to seem fancier than you are but you hate that fancy tea and have only drank one cup of it in the past year.”

Erin is staring. “I…”

Holtz taps her temple. “I see things, Erin Gilbert. I know you.”

“Apparently,” Erin mumbles self-consciously.

Holtz caps her eyeliner with a smile. “Are you scared?”

“That you’ve been watching me for two years?”

“That I’m going to tell my family all your secrets today.”

“Well _now_ I am!”

Holtz nudges her shoulder. “Don’t be scared.”

“You telling me not to be scared is just making me more scared.”

They head back out into the hall.

“It’ll be fiiine,” Holtz says. “I’m gonna win this thing for us.”

“What are the other two rounds after the Beloved Game?”

“The second round is called Imagine That. It’s…it’s like…actually, I don’t think I can describe it. I think you’ll just have to see. But don’t worry—once again, it’s all me. You don’t have to do anything but sit there and listen.”

“Oh god.”

“And then the last round is called 99 Seconds.”

“99 seconds for what?”

“For my speech,” Holtz says cheerfully. “We each get 99 seconds on the clock to say everything we want to say about our Beloved in order to convince the judges that we should win.”

“Do you…have something prepared?”

“Ob-vi-ous-ly.” Holtz enunciates the syllables playfully. “I’ve only been rehearsing it for the past _week._ I could do it backwards, blindfolded, while on fire—no problem. I actually _did_ do a run of it whilst on fire. I was practicing in the lab and got a little too passionate and my sleeve accidentally became a little too friendly with a blowtorch.”

“Oh my god.”

“So yeah, I’m gonna nail it. Nothing’s gonna take the win away from team Jerin. We’ve got this shit in the bag.”

“What are you…going to say about me?”

Holtz wags her finger. “Nuh uh. You have to wait until tonight. One of the things I’m scored on is your reaction, so don’t hold back, alright? I think there’s bonus points if you cry.”

“Holtz—”

“ _Happy_ tears, sheesh. The goal isn’t to torment you. It’s to complement you so effectively that everyone concurs that you are the Best.”

Erin is still apprehensive about the whole situation, but she trusts Holtz and believes her when she says that the whole point of the Battle isn’t to tear people down, but to build them up. She still feels like she has no clue what she’s in store for, but for all her wariness, she’s actually excited to finally experience whatever the hell is about to happen today. Whatever happens.

Holtz holds out her hand at the top of the stairs and smiles. “You ready for this?”

Erin rolls back her shoulders and takes Holtz’s hand. “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s do what we came here to do and go win Battle of the Beloveds.”

Holtz’s grin splits her face. “Hell _yeah_.”

Downstairs has been rearranged into the Battle Arena. All the kids have been dropped off at their grandparents’ houses, because the Battle is an adults-only event that has been known to get a little raunchy.

There’s a large whiteboard on wheels that’s blocked out with the six teams and space to tally official points after each round of competition. There’s food laid out, microphones, smaller handheld whiteboards.

“Opening ceremony begins in five minutes,” Mo tells them.

“Righty-o,” Holtz says.

Every couple is wearing a different coloured t-shirt printed with their team name.

Candice walks by with a green shirt that says _Alice_.

“Alice?” Erin says.

“Alex and Candice,” Candice says. She nudges Holtz. “You ready for this, little sister?”

“Born ready,” Holtz says confidently.

They line up down the hallway two-by-two and wait until the official Battle Anthem begins pumping through a Bluetooth speaker. That’s when they start marching in to the dining room, cheering and whooping and singing along to _The Best_ at the top of their lungs.

“ _You’re simply the best!”_ Holtz scream-sings at Erin.

There are six chairs on either side of the long dining room table. The six siblings take a seat down one side, and their Beloveds sit across from them.

“Welcome,” Mo shouts from the head of the table, “to the 18th Annual Holtzmann-Daniels Battle of the Beloveds!”

They all cheer and bang on the table with their fists. Erin grins and joins in.

“Would the reining champions please stand?” Cliff says from the other end of the table.

Sandy and Danny rise in their red shirts emblazoned with _Dandy_. They’re each wearing a shiny gold crown that says _THE BEST_ on it.

“If you would,” Cliff says, “kindly return your crowns so that the games may begin?”

The two of them walk to Cliff’s end of the table, where there are two white pedestals on either side of him. He ceremoniously lifts the crowns off their heads and places them down. Team Dandy returns to their seats.

“We now call for nominations for Battle of the Beloveds 2018,” Mo says.

Sandy immediately stands. “I, Sandra Pearl Beech—”

Erin raises her eyebrow. “Sandy Pearl?” she mouths across the table at Holtz.

Holtz snickers and nods.

“—hereby nominate my husband, Daniel Joseph Beech, as the Best Beloved.”

Mo dips her head. “And do you solemnly swear to abide by the rules and traditions of the Battle of the Beloveds as dictated by the Battle Constitution, and pledge to be honest, kind, loving, and supportive in keeping with the spirit of this Battle?”

“I do,” Sandy says.

“I submit to the ring: Team Dandy,” Cliff says with a sweep of his hand.

Everyone cheers and claps. Sandy sits back down.

Candice immediately stands up. “I, Candice Betsy Holtzmann, hereby nominate my partner, Alex Chaucer Myerson, as the Best Beloved.”

Mo repeats the same swearing-in, and Candice also agrees.

“I submit to the ring: Team Alice,” Cliff says.

Applause.

Matthew stands. “I, Matthew Richard Daniels, hereby nominate my wife, Alicia Marie Daniels, as the Best Beloved.”

Mo swears him in as well.

“I submit the ring: Team Matthlicia,” Cliff announces.

Ricky gets up from his chair. “I, Richard James Daniels, hereby nominate my boyfriend, Vincent Luis Belasco, as the Best Beloved.”

Mo swears him in, and Cliff submits Team Vinicky to the ring.

“I, Charles Ryan Daniels,” Charlie says, “hereby nominate my wife, Megan Naomi Strauss, as the Best Beloved.”

Mo repeats the swearing-in one more time, and Cliff announces Team Meglie.

And then—all eyes are on Holtz with excitement.

She stands, strangely nervous, and clears her throat. “I—um, I kinda forgot about this part, could I just skip—”

“No,” everyone says.

She pouts. “I, Jmmmbbmmlln—”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Erin asks.

She sighs exasperatedly. “I, Jillian Pollyanna Holtzmann—”

Erin’s eyes light up with glee. “Oh my g—”

“Nope, _don’t_.”

Erin mimes zipping her mouth closed.

Holtz licks her lip and continues. “—hereby nominate my girlfriend, Erin Ann Gilbert, as the Best Beloved.”

Erin can’t stop smiling.

Mo’s smile is 10,000-watt as well. “And do you solemnly swear to abide by the rules and traditions of the Battle of the Beloveds as dictated by the Battle Constitution, and pledge to be honest, kind, loving, and supportive in keeping with the spirit of this Battle?”

Holtz grins too. “Oh, you better believe I do. Absolutely.”

Mo gives her a look.

“Really! I’ll play by the rules,” Holtz assures her. “I’m playing to win, not get disqualified.”

Mo looks at Cliff.

A wide smile spreads on his face. “I submit to the ring, for the very first time: Team Jerin!”

Loud cheering erupts.

“Let the Battle begin!” Mo and Cliff shout simultaneously.

Cliff doles out whiteboards to everyone while Mo explains the official rules of the first round, the Beloved Game.

“There are fifteen questions,” she says, “each one about your Beloved. The Beloveds will answer the question themselves, and your goal is to have the same answer. For example: if I asked ‘what is your Beloved’s favourite colour?’” She looks at Erin. “Erin, you would write down on your whiteboard what your favourite colour is, and Jay would write down what she thinks the answer is. When you both hold up your whiteboards, they should have the same thing written on them.”

She gestures at them to do it. “Keep your whiteboards on your lap, hidden from view, until I ask you to raise them, and any hint of communication across the table or changing of answers after time is up will result in forfeiture of the point and disqualification if it happens more than once.”

Erin smiles to herself and scrawls her answer.

“Ready?” Mo nods at Holtz. “Jay, your answer?”

Holtz holds up her board. “The blue-grey she painted her bedroom.”

All eyes go to Erin.

“Erin?” Mo tilts her head.

Erin lifts her own board. “The blue-grey I painted my bedroom,” she says with a giggle.

Everyone claps and cheers. Holtz punches the air victoriously.

“We _got_ this,” she says.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Mo says with a smirk. “That was only practice.”

“We got this,” Holtz mouths at Erin with a wink.

Once everyone is settled with whiteboards and markers, they start.

“Question number one,” Mo begins. “What colour did your Beloved wear on your first date?”

Everyone uncaps their markers and begins writing. Erin pales.

What colour _did_ she wear on their first date?

What _was_ their first date?

They were dating for a while before Erin clued in. What is Holtz going to consider their first date? Something that didn’t even register as a date to Erin?

Time is running out, so she takes a chance and scribbles something on the board.

When their 30 seconds are up, Cliff bangs a gong. “Competitors, raise your boards,” he says, pointing at the siblings side of the table.

One by one they flip their boards and read their answers and then see if their Beloveds have the same ones.

Sandy, Ricky, and Charlie get it right. Candice and Matthew get it wrong.

Holtz flips over her whiteboard confidently. “Plum,” she says.

Erin swears internally. She holds up her own whiteboard meekly. “Blue?”

Holtz gives her a dismayed look. “Erin, you were wearing that plum-coloured sweater, the one with the tiny beading.”

“When…was this?”

“I took you to dinner? At that Vietnamese place?”

Erin squints. “Holtz, that was like, a year ago!”

Holtz raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

Charlie chuckles. “Rough start, buddy.”

“Erin and I have differing opinions on the start of our relationship,” Holtz says, winking at Erin. “Not a big deal. We’re still gonna win.”

Erin blushes and smiles, wiping her answer off with her fist.

“Question two,” Mo says. “What is the first thing your Beloved would buy if they won the lottery?”

This time, Erin immediately knows her answer, and feels relieved. She’s not sure if Holtz will get it, but at least this time she knows _she_ won’t be the one getting it wrong.

Holtz turns over her board after the others have gone. “The Firehouse,” she says.

Erin grins and holds up her own whiteboard. “The Firehouse!”

Holtz high-fives her across the table.

They get question three right (“What was the first meal your Beloved ever cooked for you?” - Holtz answered “She hasn’t” and Erin answered “N/A”) and question four as well ( “Did your Beloved have any childhood pets? What were their names?” - Erin’s answer was “One fish named Pythagoras” and Holtz’s was “Secret fish Pythagoras,” which was even more accurate, as her parents never knew about Py).

“Number five. What is the one thing your Beloved likes best about you?”

Erin bites her lip and thinks for only half a second before writing _Her weirdness._

“I’m crazy,” is Holtz’s answer.

Mo gives them the point.

Question six, “What frightens your Beloved the most,” gets an easy answer of “Eels” from both of them (Holtz’s in all caps).

“What is the most embarrassing thing your Beloved has ever said or done in front of you?” is question seven.

Erin’s face turns red. She knows the answer—and she knows by the glee in Holtz’s eyes that she’s going to have no trouble writing it down.

Holtz holds up her answer with a grin. “Hit on a ghost.”

Erin turns her board. “Flirted with a ghost,” she admits shamefully.

Her answer isn’t the one that gets the most laughter at the table, so that’s something. Amazingly, most people get the question wrong, each answering with a different (but equally amusing) embarrassing story.

Question eight is easy: “What one item of clothing of yours does your Beloved hate the most?”

Erin can picture it instantly, the horrific orange sweater with an embroidered fried egg on it that Holtz wears just to irritate her.

“Egg Sweater™” is what Holtz has written on her board, trademark and everything. Erin rolls her eyes.

They both answer “National Girls Collaborative Project” for question eight, “What charity is your Beloved most likely to donate to,” which is a no-brainer—they’ve donated to it together before. They’re all for helping women and girls in STEM.

Question ten is about steak-cookedness, and Erin’s answer of “well done” gets a little scrawled unhappy face on Holtz’s whiteboard. It’s also the first question that every team gets right.

“Question 11,” Mo says. “If your house was on fire, what one thing would your Beloved grab before leaving?”

Erin has to think for a moment before answering.

“Nothing,” Holtz says as she turns her board. “The firehouse catches on fire at least once a day, but if it was _really_ on fire to the point of evacuation, we wouldn’t have time to grab anything because the city would already be leveled at that point.”

Everyone stares at her.

“We keep a lot of fire extinguishers on hand,” Erin mutters. She holds up her own board. “I said the keys to the Ecto, because if the building is going down, we _really_ don’t want that car in the garage. Plus, we could use it to get as far away from the building as we could before it blew.”

Holtz nods. “I appreciate that train of thought, Gilbert. You’d be dead already, but it’s a nice thought.”

“No point,” Cliff says with a shake of his head.

Holtz concedes the loss. She gets the next question though, correctly guessing that Erin’s dream vacation is to Spain.

Question 13 is a little tricky. What superpower would Erin choose to have? Holtz thinks for a bit before writing _Supernatural reflexes._

“No more getting slimed,” she explains when Erin gives her a funny look.

“Oh. Yeah. That would be a good one.” Erin reveals her actual answer, “Flying,” with a shrug. “Could help during busts.”

Holtz concedes that loss, too.

Question 14 is “Which one of you is smarter?”

Now, the answer is obvious, but Holtz also knows Erin, and the point of the game is to guess what _Erin_ is going to answer.

“Me,” Holtz says confidently. “It’s actually Erin by a landslide, but she would never write her own name down.”

Erin blushes and reveals her answer, “Holtz.”

Holtz clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “Why are you lying to these fine people, Erin?”

Erin bites back a smile.

Cliff claps his hands together. “Alright, folks, it’s the final question. Tied for first with 11 points, we have Team Dandy, Team Meglie, and Team Jerin.”

Holtz pumps her fist. “Ow ow!”

“Team Alice close behind with ten points—you still have a chance to win this round. Team Vinicky has nine points and Team Matthlicia has eight—unfortunately, you do not have a chance to win this round, but remember that all points count towards your final tally, so don’t give up just yet.”

Mo clears her throat. “Your final question, 30 seconds on the clock: How many pairs of shoes does your Beloved own?”

Everyone’s heads bend immediately, counting on their fingers below the table.

Holtz has got this in the bag, though. She knows exactly how many pairs of shoes Erin owns. She knows exactly how many pairs there are, because she has been instrumental in the disposal of Erin’s more impractical pairs of heels from her days of academia and has therefore whittled it down to the essentials:

  1. Blue rubber boots
  2. Ghostbusting boots
  3. White Keds
  4. Black heels (dates)
  5. Running shoes
  6. Brown sandals



She writes her answer down with confidence.

They go down the line. Sandy gets it wrong by forgetting about a pair of Danny’s rarely-worn dress shoes. Candice gets it right because apparently Alex only owns one pair of shoes. Matthew gets it wrong because he thinks Alicia has more pairs than she actually does. Ricky gets it wrong because Vincent owns too many pairs to count. Charlie gets it wrong by one.

It’s Holtz’s turn. “Six and a half,” she says loudly.

Erin’s eyes are wide. “It’s six,” she says in confusion. “What’s the half?”

“That pair of beige heels that I accidentally lit on fire—”

“That was on _purpose.”_

“—and one of them was destroyed and you kept the other one to spite me.”

“Okay, yes, that’s true, but the question was how many _pairs_ of shoes do I have,” Erin points out.

“Yes, six full pairs and a _half_ of a pair,” Holtz says.

They both look at Mo, who exchanges a look with Cliff.

Several seconds of eye-conversation happen.

“Technically, you did not have the same answer as your Beloved,” Mo says.

Holtz pouts.

“But—” Cliff raises his chin— “you did get the correct number of pairs, so we will award you…half a point.”

Holtz throws her hands in the air and whoops loudly. “That’s all we needed to win!”

“Congratulations Team Jerin, the winners of Round One with 11.5 points!” Mo leads everyone in a round of applause. “In second place, teams Dandy, Alice, and Meglie with 11 points. In third place, Team Vinicky with nine points, and in last place, Team Matthlicia with eight points. Way to go everyone, these weren’t easy questions this year!”

She adds their scores to the official scoreboard on the big rolling whiteboard.

“We will now take a break for breakfast and reconvene in half an hour for Round Two,” Mo says.

People get up from their seats, stretch, trickle into the kitchen.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” Charlie says, elbowing Holtz.

She grins. “Just you wait. We’re taking this thing all the way to the bank.”

“Who wants a drink?” Cliff asks.

“Meeee,” several people chorus.

“Erin?”

“It’s…8:00am,” she says quietly.

Cliff lifts a bottle of champagne. “I’m making mimosas.”

“Oh. In that case…sure.”

“I should’ve warned you before,” Holtz says. “While you are under no obligation to drink, and many people don’t, the Battle _does_ get a little boozy.”

“Some of us stay sober so as not to jeopardize our chances of winning,” Sandy says.

Holtz smirks. “I don’t know about you, but my ability to love the shit outta my girlfriend doesn’t diminish after a drink or two.”

Erin blushes.

“I’m sorry,” Sandy says, “which one of us has five Battle wins under her belt, making her not only last year’s reining champion but also the most decorated competitor in Battle history?”

“Hoo baby, that was before I was playing,” Holtz says.

“And remind me again why you’ve never entered the Battle before?” Sandy crosses her arms smugly. “It couldn’t possibly be because you haven’t had a girlfriend in 18 years, could it?”

“Touché,” Holtz says cheerfully.

Cliff doles out mimosas to everyone who wanted one.

Candice lifts hers. “To the Battle.”

“To the Battle!” everyone toasts.

Holtz winks at Erin over the rim of her flute as she takes a sip.

**Author's Note:**

> [Let's be friends](http://holtzin.tumblr.com)


End file.
